


Two for Tragedy

by Billywick, selwyn



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: M/M, liberal headcanon usage
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-22
Updated: 2017-11-15
Packaged: 2018-10-22 13:02:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 21
Words: 93,379
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10697559
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Billywick/pseuds/Billywick, https://archiveofourown.org/users/selwyn/pseuds/selwyn
Summary: Genji was alive.That's all that mattered to him, in the end. He would leave behind his name, honor, and place in the world, if only for a chance at penance for his greatest mistake.[semi-AU wherein Genji is still in Blackwatch as he reunites with Hanzo. Premise that the "Dragons" short happened with BW Genji instead. And then, you know, what happened with Blackwatch, Overwatch and everything else that matters in their lives.]





	1. Chapter 1

Hanzo didn’t give himself time to think better of it before he was out of Hanamura, tracking Genji’s trail. In the back of his mind, he knew he would regret this. He’d always ended up regretting everything he’d done in regards to his brother. But this… this was something he could not  _ bring _ himself to stop.

Genji was  _ alive _ .

In the face of all that, all other concerns fell away. The Shimada-gumi did not need him - as far as he was concerned, he had done his duty to them when he killed his brother. Or at least, when he thought he killed him. They were warned, so they would begin fortifying themselves against future assaults. Hanzo could afford to leave them until he completed his personal mission.

Hanamura was left behind. From Tokyo, he found his way out of the country. A helicopter ride to South Korea wasn’t comfortable, but it was easier than trying to wrangle a plane ticket when the country was already on high-alert. The war on omnics was still on-going, even if the crisis itself was over. The Shimada-gumi still had contacts in South Korea. He could find his bearings there, and begin his search in earnest.

Genji. Gods,  _ Genji _ .

He might have been covered in machinery, looking like a hybrid of human and omnic, but Hanzo knew his brother’s face, his brother’s  _ dragon _ . Before, he hadn’t had the chance to fully lay out everything that had been building up in him for so long… and then the chance itself had gone forever. Now, though, Genji was back. By some miracle or divine intervention, he was  _ alive _ .

There was no point to living any longer if he let go of this last, gods-given chance to find him and confess his sins. To… reconcile, if that was even possible. Hanzo wanted to lay out his apologies, at least, just to let Genji know that he regretted what he’d done.

He did not have to be forgiven.

He just… he just wanted to see him again. To know he was alive,  _ truly _ , even as something more omnic than man.

 

Hanamura left its scars on Genji’s filled canvas. To see Hanzo mourning him had not assuaged the storm of bitter emotions towards his would-be killer. There had been some satisfaction in letting Hanzo know he failed, and that he, Genji, persisted in life, stronger than before. It did not matter that Hanzo could warn the Shimada. Genji had a mission, personal and assigned, and he would succeed in it no matter what. His brother was no longer part of the picture, as far as he was concerned, and therefore wouldn’t need to be eliminated alongside the rest of his criminal, murderous former family. They were yakuza, and no code of honor could compensate for the evil they did in the world.

So Genji had become what, ironically, the clan had wanted. No longer a playful young man living out his vices in excess. He’d been sharpened and shaped, he was a blade that would cut out what festered in his hometown and beyond.

Returning to Blackwatch headquarters had been a mere pitstop, a chance to lay out what plans he knew and had before he would move out again. His commander was liberal in allowing Genji input on his missions; he had to be, because Genji, despite his poor cooperation when he had been a true Shimada, still had all the inside information required to put an end to the clan’s global reach.

The outside influences would have to be quelled. If the Shimada could be contained to Japan alone, they would be easier to defeat. The arms’ deals they had in several countries afforded them allies, and Genji needed to put a stop to them first, so none of the clan could retreat beyond his reach.

Hanzo had to be put out of his mind, though that alone seemed an impossible task. How could he simply put aside the man who had ended his life, and yet, through death, afforded him a new one? This regretful wraith of his brother was a bad taste in his mouth, a cloying thought clinging to his nightmares. Hanzo was full of sorrow and grief where he had no right to be. Genji swore he would not return to find his brother until his business with the Shimada was concluded.

 

_ Blackwatch _ . Little was known about the shadowy organization. The Shimada-gumi always kept tabs on its sister organization, Overwatch, but Blackwatch was hard to track and notoriously secretive. It was well-known among the underground that they were Overwatch’s dirty dealers, meant to eliminate enemies in ways that the good organization itself could not. But Hanzo had been cut off from the Shimada-gumi’s information network for a long time now, and his mercenary lifestyle was too shallow for him to be wedged into any other network.

It wasn’t the worst possible position to be in. He had names. He had visuals. Everything else was just  _ legwork _ .

The simplest choice would be to hunker down in Japan and wait for Genji to return. But that was not acceptable to Hanzo. He would not  _ wait _ . He would be the one to seek him, be the one to take  _ action _ rather than have the world prompt him.

Overwatch was famously stationed in Gibraltar.  Finding Blackwatch was near impossible - and suicidal - if he went about it blindly. Joining Overwatch, though…

It didn’t sit well with him, of course. Overwatch and the Shimada-gumi had been tentative allies, once, but that fell away once the Omnic Crisis ended. Now, they were enemies wrestling for a place on the world stage. Even if he were welcomed, he would not be trusted. Hanzo would be expected to surrender information, skills, and resources if he approached them. And even then, they had no obligation to accept his offer.

And yet… Genji. At the end of all roads, Genji stood.

Could Hanzo leave Japan for him, join Overwatch for him?

Yes. Yes, he could.

The choice had always been made. It’d been made the moment he killed Genji.

From South Korea, he hopped up north to Russia. With the Trans-Siberian and a few greased connections, he got into Eastern Europe. 

He could not approach Overwatch empty-handed. Hanzo needed a demonstration, a  _ reason _ to show them that he was a worthy addition to their cause. That meant information. It meant giving them a prize, and promising more to follow.

Once upon a time, the international human trafficking ring had been a thriving business. With the Crisis, much of it fell apart. Nowadays, it was slowly and carefully being revived - with the Shimada-gumi being one of its strongest partners. It stayed under Overwatch’s scrutiny, but Hanzo knew it well. Given a few more years, people would be trafficked all over again, for sex, for labor, for organs, for any unethical use the powerful wanted.

Now, it was going to be his in. He knew what he had to do.

Betrayal for redemption was something he could get  _ used _ to.

 

It didn’t sit well with Genji that he’d have to be making use of Overwatch’s famous base. It wouldn’t sit well with his commander either, but they, as Blackwatch, did whatever was necessary, and this definitely was it. New information had formed a new directive for him. He was to eliminate the Shimada’s core partner in the trafficking business. It was a nasty branch of work and Genji would definitely feel better once he’d done his part in ridding the world of his family’s evil. 

So he was sent to Gibraltar, to obtain the information personally from the Overwatch agent there, and then he’d be set to go for another ‘clean-up’ mission.

Genji had no idea who or what awaited him when he got out of his transport and entered the base, travel pack over his shoulder, carrying what little he needed for personal maintenance. Overwatch would give him use of their equipment should he need it. Such was the useful nature of being Overwatch’s ‘attack dog’. Blackwatch agents had their own philosophy on how to handle things and there was palpable tension, even between the agents.

Genji was brought to a tactical room, complete with screens and holograms. All that was absent was the agent carrying the vital information.

 

Making his way up the ladder was slow, nasty work. Hanzo’s hands were freshly blooded when he finally had a strong case that he could go to Overwatch with. It took him months of undercover work, but he finally managed. Nearly half a year later to his first meeting with Genji in Hanamura, Hanzo could approach Overwatch without the worry of being arrested on sight.

Well. He did end up being arrested. But not for long.

Not after he dangled his information in front of them.

Negotiations after that had been tense. Uncomfortable. Overwatch did not trust him, and Hanzo reciprocated. Both sides walked on thin ice around each other, and Hanzo cut back every piece of his past and kept his nose clean for the screening process. After weeks of silence, they let him in.

Now, he was finally due for a meeting. A  _ real _ meeting, not a secured web call or information drop-off or an interrogation somewhere dark and unknown. All his information was committed to memory, just to ensure that Overwatch couldn’t take out his leverage out from under him.

But the blindfold around his eyes, along with the mufflers and manacles told him he wasn’t going to be trusted for a  _ long _ time. Hanzo walked slowly, guided by someone he could not see, to where the briefing was supposed to happen. He’d been told to meet his pick-up in Barcelona, Spain - he’d expected the convoy. He hadn’t expected everything else that followed.

Still, if they were willing to let him into a place they thought was sensitive enough that he needed to be blindfolded for, it meant they were taking him seriously. Also, they must believe that they had the resources to  _ keep  _ him down once he arrived.

The former reassured him. The latter worried him.

Through his mufflers, he heard a door open. Slowly, Hanzo entered. The manacles were popped off and the door closed. He had no doubt it was locked as well.

Hands free, he could remove his mufflers and blindfold.

“Your security measures are thorough,” he began as he took off the visor that had been his blindfold. “Though I can assure you that I mean no harm to -  _ Genji _ ?”

 

Genji had the moments of the agent entering until he could remove his blindfold to compose himself. Hanzo? Here? What was the meaning of this? Overwatch had been very private with their information on the agent, but Genji would never in a million years have expected his own brother to be showing up. Why was he here? 

“ _ You’re _ the informant?”

He sounded incredulous, even though he kept his voice calm, even and removed. This didn’t change anything except the nature of the exchange. Anger brewed readily in Genji and he kept his crimson (enhanced) eyes on his brother warily. 

Great. How had Hanzo managed to infiltrate Overwatch? Was he back with the Shimada? Caution and suspicion dominated Genji, pushing away the tiny feeling of queasiness at the sight of his brother.

 

He wanted to drop everything and - and do  _ something _ . Hanzo froze, just long enough that his reason overshot his emotions. He didn’t drop the visor or the mufflers, and instead placed them on the table with a clatter. His mouth was suddenly dry.

He’d been prepared for years of labor. In his mind, he saw years of information gathering, work, and running errands for Overwatch before they let him anywhere  _ near _ Genji. But here they were, so soon after their meeting.

Or so  _ late _ .

Hanzo swallowed, then gingerly sat down. He was already on the backfoot thanks to Genji’s appearance. Was this on purpose? Dangle his brother before him, and use his appearance to shock Hanzo into manipulation? He wouldn’t put it past Overwatch -  _ or _ Blackwatch.

“...I am,” he finally said after marshalling his composure. He couldn’t keep his eyes from hungrily devouring his brother’s image, as if terrified he would turn out to be an illusion, but his hands were on the table, clasped together so he wouldn’t reach out. “I reached out to Overwatch regarding the nascent trafficking ring growing in Eastern Europe, Russia, and Asia. I did not… expect them to have you as my… correspondent.”

_ I missed you. I need to talk to you. I’m so sorry. _

Not here. Not while Overwatch was leaning on his back. They must have planned this. They  _ knew _ what they were doing when they arranged this.

His grip tightened.

 

“I wasn’t informed of your...work at all.” Genji wondered if that had been done on purpose too. It would seem petty of Reyes though, and unlike his style of command. Genji was a good soldier, even if his work was bloody and rampant. Maybe it was down to Overwatch. He could believe their leader would keep such vital information, for whatever nefarious purpose. Genji had joined Blackwatch after the divide had already come into place, so he had a natural amount of suspicion towards their sister organization. Too good to do their own dirty work, but willing to reap the heroic reputation...

Hanzo’s presence was distracting. A nuisance. Maybe even a hindrance, depending on how this exchange went. Genji squashed down anger and guilt and resentment and kept his eyes on his brother, devoid of an emotional response. Not here. Not now. Maybe not ever.

“You will tell me everything you know about the trafficking ring?”

Really? Hanzo would be the one to betray the Shimada’s allies?

 

“That’s why I am here.” Hanzo was, even at his worst, a professional. Genji’s presence was a constant reminder of his internal demons (and his failure at taming them), but he could pull his head out long enough to  _ think _ . 

He focused on a spot between Genji’s eyes instead. It was easier to settle on that than letting his eyes wander.

“The ring was broken down mid-Crisis when Russia was hit. Without the Trans-Siberian route, and with aerial transport being compromised, the ring lost a critical part of their trafficking ability. Once the omnics moved to Europe, the ring no longer was profitable enough to keep. Key members died during the Crisis - something they suspect was planned on the part of the omnium that was involved in Russia.”

Hanzo paused. He wet his lips, considering and reordering his words, then continued. “With the crisis ending, new attempts to revive the trade is being made. Primary members include the Roma in Hungary, the Russian Bratva, the South Korean Geondal, and the Japanese Shimada-gumi, along with several smaller retainer families. The trade has yet to grow fully international, but there are talks of incorporating the Americans in the future.”

There was still more to tell, but those were the key details. Hanzo still had more… but he would wait before spilling everything. In a way, this was also a test. Had Overwatch told Genji everything Hanzo passed on before this meeting? Or was a greater plan at work here?

 

Hanzo’s willingness to share information was a good sign, but Genji needed names in order to hunt. Did his brother realize he was committing people to their deaths, by naming them here before him? Of course Genji simply recorded the conversation. It would be much easier than taking notes in any form.

“Someone from the Shimada-gumi would reach out to America, it can be assumed,” and wouldn’t that just be a great place to strike? That way, Blackwatch would take care of the authority of the Shimadas as well as identify any further perpetrators operating in the States.

A good opportunity. A bloody opportunity.

“Do you know any specific locations or names?” Genji knew Hanzo  _ knew _ , but the question was whether or not he would willingly divulge the information. Half of Genji hoped he would, the other hoped he wouldn’t.

 

“Bogota, Colombia. A meeting will take place between the Japanese and the Americans there on the ninth of April, time unknown. Japanese representatives include Dan Inoye and Yachiru Umae. The Americans will send their own representative - Brandon Lear - but they are all expendable sources. It is recommended that the meeting be allowed to play out fully, and the representatives used to trace back to their sponsors. There is an opportunity to infiltrate the meeting as well.”

Hanzo had been planning on the latter himself. He was a well-known face in the Shimada-gumi and the news of the brothers’ break was limited to Japan’s borders. The Shimada-gumi held their cards close to their heart - if news of Hanzo poking around the ring rose through the ranks, they would remain tight-lipped on the matter. Of course, that would  _ change _ once they realized what he was doing, but he still had time before that happened.

What little social capital he had with the clan would soon be expended on Overwatch. It was a necessary sacrifice.

“Inoye and Umae are both retainers to the Shimada-gumi. It is possible to infiltrate the Japanese representatives given opportunity.”

 

Infiltration...that was an impossible for Genji. He didn’t deal in deception, he dealt in death. Clean, swift or long and suffering, he made little distinction when it came to yakuza. Hanzo would be an ideal in, of course, and it could lead to the destruction of more than just the retainers. It could collapse the entire structure from within, which would make the Shimada-gumi and their international associates easy pickings.

Genji had to think about this efficiently, even if it involved Hanzo, whom he didn’t want this close, or involved, or present at all in his life anymore. He’d finished that chapter in Hanamura. He was done with his brother. 

And yet Hanzo was here, in his face. 

“...and I suppose you would be ideal for this opportunity. Is that why Overwatch sent you to me?”

 

_ I didn’t plan this. _

“I suppose it is.” Hanzo wished they were anywhere else but here. Hanamura, as violent and fast-paced as it had been, had been a better place for a talk than this silent room. Here, Hanzo had to mince his words. Anything he said was probably being recorded, for later study and scrutiny. If he wanted any kind of advantage in this exchange, he  _ had _ to be in control.

“It is your prerogative to take the opportunity,” Hanzo said.  _ Take it. Come with me _ . “I understand if Blackwatch remains wary on the matter.”

At least he’d walked into this knowing Genji was alive. Had it been for any other reason, and they’d thrown Genji at him like this… Hanzo probably would’ve spilled everything in his absolute shock.

He had to take his brother up on this. He was the agent assigned to this matter, and yes, he chose to fulfill it in whatever way was necessary. Even if it involved spending an entire mission around his brother, whose allegiance surely didn’t really lie with Overwatch. This was a ploy. And if anyone would figure out Hanzo’s true intentions, it would be him. He couldn’t let anyone else take the risk.

Genji nodded mechanically, nothing more meaningful than efficiency to his agreement.

“I am willing to take a risk. The reward of instability in the  _ gumi _ is too substantial to waste.”  _ And if you betray me, again, I will be prepared. _

 

Hanzo closed his eyes, and inhaled slowly. Good. Things were proceeding as he’d foreseen.

“Then it is up to Blackwatch to mobilize. We will need to be in the country before the fifth, so that I may have time to locate the Japanese representatives and enter the negotiations.”

Being present would let him understand the movements of the ring. He knew that the Roma were beginning to collect possible targets, along with the Koreans and the Japanese - so the Americans were a likely destination. Knowing who was buying what kind of human stock would paint a clearer image of how the ring was beginning to reset its trade.

And if Genji was meant to be his supervisor, that would let Hanzo kill two birds with one stone. Perhaps he wouldn’t even have to give up everything to Overwatch to get to his brother in time.

His lips thinned. He needed to keep Genji with him, as long as he could. “There will still be more to do. The Americans are merely the buyers - and transit site to the rest of North America.”

Snuffing out one corner of the entire operation wouldn’t be enough. If Blackwatch didn’t move quickly, they would lose control of the fire and Hanzo’s information, limited as it was, would become outdated. After that, chasing the ring down would be near impossible. Squashing it in its infancy was the best option.

 

They were pressed for time then. Genji didn't much like that so much of this mission would hinge on Hanzo of  all people, but he had little choice now. The likelihood of betrayal continued to exist, but perhaps Hanzo’s guilt would prove him loyal to the mission. This time. If anyone else had to depend on him, Genji would have advised them against taking his brother's help **.**

**“** Then speed is of the essence. Prepare yourself. I'll have transport to Japan ready within forty minutes.”

 

Hanzo opened his mouth to speak, thought better of it, and considered Genji’s new parts instead. They looked complex. Dangerous. Was his arm completely mechanized? How much of him  _ remained _ ?

Was that single arm the only flesh and blood limb Genji possessed?

_ What happened to you? _

“I assume you will be escorting me?”

_ We need to talk. _

Self-control had never been harder. Hanzo squeezed his hands together. Preparation would not take long - he had little in the way of material possessions. His bow, quiver, and a small duffle bag of clothes was all he carried. They were probably being scanned by Overwatch right now.

“Will you be accompanying me to the meeting, or should I expect off-site surveillance?” Genji was a rather…  _ obvious _ escort. Although he doubted any trace of him existed on anything non-Blackwatch, Genji was simply too distinct to allow for a quiet mission. Perhaps, Hanzo could call him an omnic bodyguard. That wouldn’t handle the question of visibility, however, or the fact that he oozed danger from every circuit.

 

Allowing Hanzo to operate alone was completely out of the question. Remote surveillance risked the chance of failure, and Genji had a perfect, bloody record. It wouldn't take much to disguise him as a full omnic, his arm and chest could be covered, his visor completed.

“I will accompany you in the guise of an omnic bodyguard.”

It was helpful to keep his mind completely on mission. The presence of his brother could serve to be distracting, emotions warring with Genji’s cool limit of control.

“Remote backup will not be necessary.”

 

“That could work.” His… distrust of omnics wasn’t well-known outside of his immediate circle of once-confidantes. Since the Shimada were known to work with omnics - though their use was  _ very _ limited - Genji’s presence should not lift too many brows. Hanzo could bank on his reputation for mystery and ensure no awkward questions were asked about his ‘bodyguard’ until the meeting ended.

As long as there was no possibility of anyone else  _ recognizing _ Genji. If that happened… Hanzo might be able to pass it off as ignorance on his part, though that would impact his overall reputability, and thus damage his ability to move between roles.

But…

His eyes swept over Genji.

His brother was not the boy he once was. This was a man, a  _ dangerous _ man.

“That is acceptable,” Hanzo said after a moment’s consideration. He had no doubt that he could extract himself and Genji both, if it became necessary. Time hadn’t made Hanzo incapable, not yet.

_ It is good to see you, brother. _

Damn this location. He couldn’t say anything to Genji without worrying about what Overwatch might see and the conclusions they could draw. Even if they did know about his guilt… he would not have them know any further.

“If that is all, then we are done. Must I wait here until the transport is readied?”

What else could he talk about with Genji for forty minutes? Everything he wanted to say and question him on was delicate. Even something simple as trying to hug Genji could not happen in these watching, listening walls.

 

“If you’re not restricted, you can move around the base.” Genji busied himself with the information on the screen, though it was preciously little. Anything to keep him from looking at Hanzo. The mission had been a fine distraction, but now their planning was finished and nothing remained but to fit the omnic armor on him, which would take place right before they entered the transport or at their destination.

But now, he was alone in a room with his brother with nothing left to keep his mind from trickling through his self-control.

He wanted to get away. Put distance between them, keep Hanzo out of his mind until he absolutely could not avoid him and they both had the mission to focus on.

“...We’re done.”

 

Hanzo glanced at the visor and mufflers on the table between them. He doubted that they would lift restrictions on him so simply - surely Overwatch understood, from their experiences with Genji, that a Shimada given free movement was a Shimada at their most dangerous. But no one had come in yet, to announce that Hanzo was to be escorted away. Their meeting was done, but time ticked on and they were not interrupted.

Hanzo wished he could comb the walls for listening devices, but he doubted Genji would allow him.

He looked at the table instead, and clicked his nails on the metal surface.

“Will any other agents be joining us, or will it only be two-man mission?”

Could he convince Genji to leave Blackwatch? Could he check him, just to make sure that these…  _ things _ that his brother was attached to weren’t controlling his mind? Would Genji allow him to be that close?

“I assume that you will also be assuring my loyalty to my cause.”

Was this  _ really _ his brother? Or was it an omnic in all but name, masquerading with his face, his voice?

“Is this operation under Overwatch’s name, or your… sponsor’s?”

Hanzo needed to know. Before all else, he had to ensure that he was speaking to  _ Genji _ , and not a  _ puppet _ .

 

“Sponsor? I have a  _ commander _ , Hanzo,” the name came out with a blade’s edge to it, balancing Genji’s anger on it. It would be simple to relinquish control, to be as angry at Hanzo as he deserved, but Overwatch and Blackwatch both knew of the Shimada history, and would be observing their interaction in case it was a risk. Genji was not a loose cannon.

“The eradication of the Shimada is a mission and Blackwatch has given me what I need to complete it.”

Which now included use of Hanzo, no matter how little Genji was prepared for it.

 

“Yes. Your  _ commander _ .” Gabriel Reyes. All around loose cannon and danger to the underground. He was exactly like them - which was why he was a  _ danger _ . Morrison, at least, was predictable. “So this mission  _ is _ under Blackwatch.”

That was good. It meant Hanzo could still stay behind the curtain until he was ready to step out. Or was Overwatch hesitant to show him? After all, his face was far more visible than Genji’s - and he had nothing obscuring it. Perhaps it was caution on their part, leaving him to Blackwatch to be ‘handled’ if he proved less than useful.

“That is very  _ dutiful _ of you, Genji.” He did not try to conceal his bitter tone - let their watchers believe Hanzo held a grudge. It would serve him well to let them think he was angry with his brother. Genji would have to believe it too, until Hanzo could get to him. “You are making good progress on  _ that  _ front.”

 

“Yes I am,” Genji watched Hanzo, carefully. After his murder, he had expected Hanzo to fully commit to the clan, since he was willing to go to such lengths. Now, he knew better. Knew his death had broken some of Hanzo’s inexcusable dedication. But he wasn’t yet at the point that he could see how wrong their upbringing had been, how terrible the crimes that their family titled with ‘honor’. 

If he would get there or not was not Genji’s priority. 

“One of us needs to be accountable for the Shimada name.”

 

Did wanting to reach over and hit his brother detract from his desire to make amends?

Hanzo wondered.

“I suppose so.” 

Time passed as Hanzo sat, considering Genji in silence. He made no move to leave, and there was no move to  _ make _ him leave. He could sit here for hours just observing his brother without the outside world interfering. A year was a long time, for them. A year became even longer when it was a year you spent believing your last true family member dead.

Genji was  _ fascinating _ to watch. He moved like a human, yet his body was machine-like. Hanzo wondered what those tubes connected to his skull did. What the lights meant. His hand itched to touch Genji, and make sure that the skin he saw  _ was _ skin. Or did it conceal more metal underneath?

He would know, once they were out.


	2. Chapter 2

The helicopter was silent, apart from the obvious noise of the engine and the blades overhead. Even the pilot seemed entirely in on this ominous absence of chatter, or maybe he had been infected by the gloom of his passengers. In either case, it was good for a little while. Peace of mind was a thing far from Genji, except when he could put an end to his former family's terrible affairs.

One of them sat opposite him, but Genju had the luxury of a full omnic visor now that his disguise was fitted and ready.

“Let us go over your dialogue. So there are no misunderstandings.”

 

Hanzo gave him a deprecating look. “I can do this without any problems,” he said pointedly. Who did Genji think he was?

Still… the mission. The ‘dialogue’, as Genji so succinctly put it, was a simple thing. Most had to be, to ensure maximum believability. Hanzo had intended to do this alone, so some parts of it would need to be changed now that Genji was involved.

He eyed his brother.

“The news of my departure is not widely known among the retainer families. Inoye and Umae have no reason to suspect me. As far as they are concerned, my appearance would imply that the deal with the Americans is more important than they know, or that there are secondary purposes that they also cannot know. Regardless, they will not question my presence - or yours.”

Such was the perks of absolute loyalty within the family. Not that Genji would know.

 

“So the clan continues to think you are important.” Genji stared back at Hanzo, daring him to make a snide comment or dismiss his leadership on this mission. Genji was everything that his brother was not, now; and he’d be the only judge of Hanzo’s performance. If he betrayed him, again....well this outcome would be very different.

Genji didn’t know if Hanzo’s mere being here was proof that he wanted a change, but he was no longer naive enough to think he alone meant the world to his brother.

“They will not question you. They will not ask why they were not informed.”

 

“They will not. If the Shimada-gumi deems it needed, they would have been informed. Otherwise, my presence is information enough.”

The tension in the helicopter was growing thicker. The pilot seemed to be doing his best to seem invisible while Hanzo and Genji stared at each other, gazes level even if their minds were not. Hanzo did not reach for his bow - he did not need it. Genji would not be foolish enough to attack him.

Not here, at least.

“All that is necessary is that  _ you _ do not speak out of turn.” A skill Genji usually  _ lacked _ .

 

“Of course. What would I even have to say to a bunch of human  _ scum _ ?” Genji wouldn’t have any chance to speak anyway, considering he was posing as a full omnic, his remaining skin covered in a thin layer of armor to match the rest of his body. Bodyguards weren’t usually chatty, and neither was Blackwatch’s foremost yakuza-culling assassin.

The Genji that spoke at the most inopportune times, couldn’t hold his tongue and pointed out the painfully obvious had died a year ago at Hanzo’s hands.

“You’ll handle your _ peers _ .”

 

A muscle jumped in his jaw, but Hanzo wisely stayed silent. Arguing with Genji was not what he was here for. No matter how much Genji was  _ clearly _ baiting him.

He crossed his legs and arms. “Indeed, I will.” As long as he could count on Genji to  _ shut up _ , then the mission should go smoothly. If not… then a quick, quiet kill would make clean-up  _ much _ easier. Hopefully Genji would not jump the gun on the count, and decide his  _ revenge _ was more vital than the mission’s success.

“Has your  _ commander _ given you any further details? Secondary targets, perhaps?” He didn’t doubt it. No matter how Genji deluded himself, Blackwatch was just as bad as the Shimada-gumi were - perhaps  _ worse _ . The clan had its own internal laws to follow. Blackwatch had  _ none _ .

 

“That is none of your concern. Engage the primary targets and identify the Americans. That is all you will be needed to do.” 

Genji doubted that he could keep Hanzo out of ‘action’, so to say, but he’d be a hindrance if he turned on him. Would he? Was he already planning to? Was that why he didn’t rise to the bait? Genji wanted to shake violently. Why did this always happen, and continue to now? Hanzo just filled up his thoughts, no matter how much he wanted to stick to the mission alone. Curse his murderous brother. After this mission, he’d ask Reyes to ensure Hanzo remained with Overwatch. He couldn’t be induced into their ranks, if he was aiming for it. 

“The rest, I will handle. All you have to do is wait for extraction.”

 

The lack of confirmation was confirmation all on its own. Did Blackwatch have another purpose, besides this? What was it, then? Did it have to do with something else… or Hanzo himself?

“Unacceptable,” Hanzo said, soft enough that only Genji would hear.  While he wasn’t quite ready to cut strings and run, Hanzo was on alert. What did Blackwatch deem so important that they decided he was better of not knowing? Did they really think that he would be content to keep his head down?

“You are fools if you think that is a sufficient explanation.” Did Genji think that Hanzo was that  _ meek _ ? “What else is there for you, for Blackwatch?”

 

Genji was on high alert as soon as Hanzo distanced himself from the organization even remotely. What had Overwatch seen to convince them that his desire to join them was genuine? All Genji could see was his same old stubborn, foolish brother, who thought the clan was somehow an acceptable way of living. Maybe he was paranoid, but he of all people in the world knew best what the Shimada were like.

And he’d be a damn fool if he didn’t suspect his brother was still firmly one of them, no matter how much he regretted Genji’s death.

“What are you after, Hanzo?”

It was, perhaps, the first genuine question he’d posed.

 

What  _ was _ he after? What had he left his clan for? What had he come to Overwatch for?

Or rather,  _ who _ ?

“To see a brother I thought I killed.”

Did he intend on throwing himself over to Overwatch? Of course not. Not until he was sure Genji was himself, at least. Hanzo no longer cared to keep with the clan closely - not after what they’d made him do. No… if he was to rejoin the clan, it would only be with his brother back and with a blade in his hand to prune the clan’s rotten branches.

“But I suspect your organization is  _ aware _ .”

 

“Of course they are. I made no secret of our meeting in Hanamura.”

Genji still couldn’t believe Hanzo’s sincerity. It just didn’t sit right with him, accepting that his brother’s remorse was this powerful. He never meant all that much to Hanzo before. Why should his death truly have changed so much?

“Your brother is dead.”

What remained of Genji was bitter and vengeful and nothing like the light-hearted, easy-going fool Hanzo killed.

 

“That is not what my eyes see. You are alive, Genji, and you are here.”

Changed, yes. Maybe lesser than before. But alive. That was what mattered. All else could be overcome, given time and effort. Genji’s refusal to accept it was…  _ un _ acceptable to Hanzo. He’d lost his brother once - he would not do so a second time.

“Only a Shimada can control the dragon. And yours remains with you, no matter how changed you may be.”

 

None of that was proof of remaining the same. Genji didn’t often make use of his dragon. It was despicable to use such a creature on the likes of the clan. Genji wasn’t the same. His name bore less now than it once did. He was both freer and more trapped than ever.

But Hanzo didn’t need to know any of this. He didn’t deserve forgiveness.

“I am not the brother you seek. You are no brother of mine anymore.”

 

“You know I won’t accept that.” Not ever. Not after that loss.

His own tattoo was covered, but Hanzo felt the dragons stir, disturbed by the emotional turmoil within him. His face was smooth, but something tight and unhappy was winding in his gut. They were not bothered enough to rise from his arm, but his arm itched, irritated.

“I care not for what changes came over you. You are my brother, no matter how much you denounce it.”

 

If Hanzo could see Genji’s face, he might have known he was headed into dangerous territory. An emotional discussion was just about the last thing he should allow himself to be drawn into, but with Hanzo pressing this point as hard as he did, Genji could feel his gut churning with coiling anger.

“You lost the right to call me that when you decided my life was worth less than your reputation.” 

It wasn’t fair, and Genji knew the circumstances of his own murder, but he also could not help himself. He would always hold it against Hanzo for giving in to the pressure of the elders.

 

Guilt surged up in Hanzo again, so strong that he felt nauseous. Nothing Genji said was untrue. Hanzo  _ was _ detestable. Any desire to argue his point faded away as Genji hit the exact spot to make Hanzo deflate. His eyes flicked down as he fought to gain control over the regret that flooded him.

“I’m sorry,” he said. All concern about making sure Blackwatch didn’t know anything about him eased in the face of his overwhelming guilt. “There is…  _ nothing _ I can do to…”

_ Make you forgive me. _

He couldn’t  _ buy _ forgiveness. The twisted, tangled mess of intense guilt and resentment threatened to take over again. He wanted - what did he want? Nothing he could have, certainly.

Genji had aimed true. Hanzo’s contentious nature was extinguished like a candle in the rain and he almost visibly crumpled, palpable guilt coming off him in waves.

 

It was always satisfying to watch a weapon hit the mark, to sink in smoothly and destroy its target, without any effort or struggle. Some of Genji’s anger peeled away, vindicated by the sag in Hanzo’s shoulders, elated by the crippling guilt on his face.

Yes. He wanted to bask in it. 

This was the only way Hanzo could earn his forgiveness. If Genji could ever have enough of Hanzo’s unending sorrow, if he could truly soak in the pitiful state his poor decision had left Hanzo in...Yes. Maybe then he’d give his repentant brother a chance.

But right now, he needed him sharper. Not distracted by his emotional turmoil.

“You can deliver the Shimada to me. That is an excellent first step.”

 

Hanzo would not let himself be so easily distracted when they were in the middle of a mission. He’d survived this long by knowing when to compartmentalize his inner agony and leave it for later dwelling. For now, it went back into a box, deep within his heart, to be opened after the mission ended.

Afterwards, he could drown himself in regret. It was turning into a ritual each time - complete a mission, ruin someone, then flay himself with memories and mental demons until he was at the brink once again. Rinse, repeat. Hanzo was an expert at self-loathing, nowadays.

He no longer looked Genji head-on. Instead, his gaze was glued to a corner of the helicopter - better to contemplate that than imagine the hate Genji must be directing at him right now. Hanzo had to concentrate until it was over.

Then… then he could self-destruct until his appetite for self-punishment was sated.

“...it would be,” he said, bitter.

 

Hanzo’s bitterness spoke for itself. The man would have to deal with his emotional crisis at some other time, but Hanzo was excellent at suppressing things anyway, so it shouldn’t be too difficult to achieve. Genji however, had a much harder time putting a lid on the seething anger that longed to have Hanzo suffer more than his own burden of guilt. Some parts of Genji wanted Hanzo to suffer as he had, the physical pain, the heartbreak, everything. The gut-wrenching betrayal of someone you loved as deeply as he had loved his brother. His tiresome, stoic brother who tried way too hard for the gumi...

No. Memories were a no-go too.

“If you...” he began, not sure if it was the right thing to do, to say, but committed to it anyway, “If you really mean it...with Overwatch...We can talk. If you are genuine in your desire to change, Hanzo. But I am finished with the Shimada in all ways but one.”

 

Genji was an enigma. One moment, it seemed like he loathed Hanzo with every fiber of his being. The next, he offered a hand - a reluctant, uncertain, and stubborn one, but a hand nonetheless. Hanzo didn’t know what to make of it.

“Very well,” Hanzo said, unwilling to utter more.

He needed to think.  _ Brood, you mean _ , a ghost of a boy said, but Hanzo was well-practiced with ignoring old memories. That Genji was gone, that much was certain. Whether he could be regained remained… unknown.

He settled against his side of the bench, still not looking at Genji. Japan’s shores remained far away, and there was no much else for them to talk about when they were going to be caught up in their bloody affairs soon. There was no space for emotional reunions among murderers.

 

Genji, satisfied to have taken the moral high ground in allowing Hanzo a chance to redeem himself, settled back into his patient silence. And it lingered, for the remainder of the journey, neither of them dislodging the uncomfortable atmosphere.

 

-x-

 

The mission went off without a hitch. They left behind not just a few bodies and all of the information on the Shimadas’ American network in hand. Any follow-up mission over there would probably be delegated to another Blackwatch agent, most likely McCree, not that Genji cared much. Shimada were his business, but their business partners were open season, as far as he was concerned.

 

Colombia was hot at this time of year. Extraction was not due for a while, leaving them stranded in the country. Not that Hanzo was much concerned - just a touch irritated that he was left to sweat in a country’s whose climate he was very much unsuited for.

The hotel they were holed up in was a nice one in the capital - the place the rich stayed in when they had business within the country. Spacious, airy… all of it was useless, of course. Paranoia dictated that Hanzo kept the windows shut, the doors locked, the curtains drawn, and every inch of it scoured for bugs. He’d even checked the outside corridor too, one sleepless night.

The mission had been clean. Too clean, in his opinion. Nothing went  _ this _ easy.

In part, though, Hanzo’s jumpiness was also because of his brother’s proximity. Suddenly, he was sharing a space with someone when he hadn’t for years - even  _ before _ Genji’s… death.

With his self-loathing well underway, it made for a relatively unpleasant experience.

One window had been opened a crack, in respect to the smoke that was slowly winding its way up through the air. Hanzo had the chance to stock up when they were in Japan, and the cigarette was both reward and punishment. He peered at it, silent, then considered the sweating glass that was on the nightstand.

Whiskey, on the rocks. Hanzo didn’t even like it. How much did he drink? Did it matter?

His hair was still wet from his shower, and the water was soaked up by the bedding. Flat on his back, one hand raised so he wasn’t inhaling smoke, Hanzo could’ve almost been the picture of a lax billionaire on vacation if it weren’t for the obvious lack of anything below his knees.

He’d taken his prostheses off. Genji was nearby, so Hanzo let himself relax enough to keep them off as he hollowly contemplated that smoke patterns. They were at the foot of the bed, ready to be donned if he desired.

Whether it was also a small form of fatalism, he did not think about.

 

The mission had gone better than expected. Hanzo proved to be loyal, whether it was to the cause or his guilt remained to be seen. Genji had avoided giving in to the vague promise he’d made, simply because nothing was cleared up whatsoever. Hanzo could have planned this all along. He’d sacrificed people to his plans before.

Now, the subject of his thoughts was stewing in the other room, probably brooding, definitely smoking and all together making for a pitiful picture. Genji continued testing the tubing running into his left pectoral. It had taken a few bullets in the fight, but it seemed to retain its function. It wasn’t ideal, his situation, his body. What remained human was pathetically crippled and entirely dependent on the cybernetic enhancements for survival. 

More than once, he had contemplated agreeing to have more of his body replaced. It would be more useful than this painful husk of metal and flesh, surely.

Wallowing in his own agonies didn’t really provide anything productive, aside from avoiding Hanzo. But Genji was not a child anymore. He’d have to talk to him eventually, if only to find out if he’d really changed.

Knocking on the door was polite, and gave Hanzo a chance to escape any further, disheartening interaction. Genji was severely hoping he’d tell him to go away.

 

Hanzo had sunk deep into his thoughtless, halfway meditative state where he spent all his time lingering on his guilt. Wondering if he wanted Genji to go wasn’t even an option.

“Come in,” Hanzo said after a stretch of time. He didn’t expect Genji to knock - why should he? Hanzo had nothing to hide. Genji had seen him disgraced already - what was this but merely another addition to the collage of his brother’s shame?

The draw he took burnt nearly a quarter of the cigarette. Hanzo flicked the still glowing ashes into the ashtray near his elbow. The smoke stayed in until he felt it grow uncomfortable, at which point he let it stream out slowly.

Hanzo tended to ration his packs. Now, however, he was already on his second. The first empty one was crumbled on the floor next to a prosthesis. His vices always grew worse when his guilt inflated. With Genji so close, Hanzo had long given up on trying to remain afloat. He’d drowned long ago.

 

No matter if the window was open or closed, two packs of smokes left their mark. And their distinct odor, which had Genji’s nose revolt for a long second. How could Hanzo stand to be stewing in air this thick? 

Genji took a position by the window, wishing to climb out of it and escape Hanzo’s smoky prison. The stench of it wasn’t improving his mood whatsoever.

Hanzo on the bed, cut off at the knees, wasn’t a better view, so he kept his gaze on the window pane. 

“I said we could talk. Might as well use the window of time we have now.”

 

“You’ve been avoiding me,” Hanzo pointed out. He didn’t resent it - but it was hard to ignore. He’d tried to find Genji after the mission, but found him ‘conveniently’ busy whenever Hanzo tried to rope him into a conversation deeper than accusations and grudges.

With a grunt, he rolled onto his side. Water-slick, black hair plastered itself to his neck as half-lidded eyes considered the half of Genji he could see. “I thought you would keep avoiding me until time was up.”

 

“Well, clearly, I am not.” Genji crossed his arms, relaxing against the wall. He was close enough for them not to have to raise their voices, but not close enough to breathe in the cloud of smoke from Hanzo. His one remaining lung was already suffering. The filtration system worked harder, flashing bright red along the thin tube leading through his chest.

“I had not expected you at Overwatch. Or to remain loyal. It is to me, not Overwatch, isn’t it? You can speak the truth, Hanzo.”

 

He peered at his brother, wondering if he really could. The same paranoia lingered, asking him if this was  _ really _ Genji… or not. So far, everything said he was… but could Hanzo trust that?

He closed his eyes. This was too complicated to ponder for his drink-addled mind.

“You are right,” he confirmed. “I am here for you, not Overwatch. The only reason I chose to reveal what I knew regarding the ring was so I could get closer to you. Otherwise, I would not have cared.”

He was no longer in the mood to smoke. He crushed his cigarette against the ashtray and moved it to the nightstand. “Will you tell your commanders that, Genji?”

 

“That depends on what you think I will give you for this.” Genji continued to watch the window, terribly aware of how easy to read he was without the visor. Only the smooth polymer of his jaw stood out as a stark reminder on his face...about a time when dragons devoured him readily.

Oh, and of course, his eyes. They flashed red externally, and he forgot about that all too often. Having cybernetic replacements for everything was still something he grew used to slowly.

“All of the clan’s business partners and itself, for me? It would be the first time you chose that way.”

And what was he even hoping for? For Genji’s forgiveness?

 

“There is nothing I regretted more than what I did to you. All else paled next to it.”

Hanzo clenched his fist. Remembering Genji as he lay dying was… nightmarish. Horrific. Even seeing him now, alive and functioning, wasn’t enough. Hanzo could see his crimes laid out over the machines that covered him. Over the glossy scars that marred his sole flesh-and-blood arm. Genji was a vicious, vivid reminder of Hanzo’s  _ weakness _ .

“After that… nothing else mattered. The clan ceased to be important. My eyes opened, far too late.”

An accident. A mistake.

Nothing that could be taken back. In the end, all the blame could be placed on Hanzo. Genji was  _ back _ , but could that absolve him of the stain? No… never. The intent was clear. He’d meant to  _ kill _ him, and he nearly  _ had _ .

“I gave up enough. With you back… my choice was clear.”

 

“Your choice being to chase me down and profess your guilt.” Genji wanted to believe, he did, but there was a veil of anger in him that couldn’t dislodge that night, or Hanzo’s decision back then. It wasn’t easy to repent, but it wasn’t easy to forgive either.

And so far, Hanzo only mourned the loss of his brother. Not the fact that they had been lied to, raised to be murderers and liars and thieves. Maybe Genji would give him the time to get there, maybe not.

“And you have. I don’t know what more you want. To be near me? To be my brother again?” At that, he turned his head and stared Hanzo down with those enhanced, red eyes of his. He  _ dared  _ Hanzo to say yes to that. 

 

“I don’t know what I want,” Hanzo confessed, as more naked guilt flashed across his face. Every bit of deep, abiding discomfort of lying here, so vulnerable, while someone who could be his enemy stared him down - was deserved. If Genji  _ attacked _ him, it was deserved. Hanzo knew it, just as he knew that whatever revenge Genji thought to extract from him would never match the first betrayal.

“I wanted…”

_ To repent. _

_ To know you. _

_ To give you the revenge you deserve. _

“... to see you again. After that...” he shrugged a shoulder. “... I didn’t know if there would be an  _ after _ .”

 

“...You thought I would kill you.”

There was no question about it, and it had Genji’s anger sink like an anchor. His brother was already at a low that he didn’t think he’d ever reach. His brother, murderous and proud, wanted to die for what he’d done. He deserved it, no doubt, but Genji wouldn’t give him that satisfaction. Nor did he want to see Hanzo dead, no matter how much bitterness had pooled in him.

“I could never.”

 

“I would deserve it.” Hanzo had slid into apathy for things beyond his private hell. Was it selfishness to hope that Genji would finally release him from it? Probably.

Guilt twisted tighter inside him.

“You want to eradicate the Shimada. Maybe you should start with its last known head. Blackwatch would commend you for it.”

That’s all he could give now. What was left of him, once he depleted his information, his sources? What other trade could he deal that wasn’t more murder? After a certain point… he would be worth more dead, than alive.

It would never be enough. But it was all he had.

 

Hanzo was serious about this, and Genji didn’t like it. It was difficult to kick a dog whilst he was already broken and down, and his anger surged in different directions. He wanted Hanzo proud, upright, stoic. Something and someone to really rage against, someone who would fight. 

This pitiful remnant wasn’t worth any kind of attack.

“You already said, on record, that you are no longer associated with them. I won’t kill you, even if you ask me to.”

Genji scowled, wishing he could feel nothing at all.

 

Being the Hanzo the world expected from him was exhausting. He was worn down, eroded, tired. He wanted nothing more than to find his final peace, but it seemed it would continue to elude him still.

“Does it really matter?” Hanzo considered his hands. Clean now, but eternally stained. The blood of countless people… good people. Innocent people. His brother.

“It was I who killed you. Not the clan… just me. Does renouncing the name really remove my crime?”

It couldn’t. It never would. The burden would stay with him, no matter what. “You could do it now. Who would care?”

No one. Nothing. Hanzo was a ghost just waiting to fade away.

 

“I would.”

Genji had enough of this. He wanted to slap and shake Hanzo for behaving this way. Defeated, hopeless, spineless. As if he believed himself worth nothing. Where had all of Hanzo’s pride gone? Was he not ashamed to show himself to Genji like this? Raw and vulnerable? The brother Genji once knew would be mortified by it all.

“I don’t want you dead, Hanzo. You can be such a stubborn, blind and foolish ass.”

 

Genji might’ve changed drastically over time, but he remained as nebulous as ever to Hanzo. He gave up on trying to convince him - there was no use, clearly. A tiny part of him was lightened to know that Genji cared, but it was drowned out by the perpetual reminder.

_ You  _ **_killed_ ** _ him _ .

And here Genji was, refusing to do the same even when he deserved it.

“You are a better person than I am.” Perhaps the boy wasn’t entirely gone. Sharpened, yes, and harder - but not dead.

“Then I am at a loss.” All roads led to Genji - but what would Hanzo do once he was there? Floundering like this left him feeling empty, irritated, even. He wasn’t naive enough to believe he could redeem himself, but he needed  _ something _ .

“All I desire is to - to repent.” To be forgiven. But he did not deserve forgiveness. He never would. His dragons’ refusal to come out told him enough. They would never reappear for him, most likely.

 

“Repent...” As if it were that simple. Genji didn’t want Hanzo to suffer eternally, even if he did want him to experience pain for a little longer than he had. Genji wanted Hanzo to share his point of view. To be on his side, for once.

“I don’t know if I am ready to help you with that.”

He certainly was not. He still killed the Shimada men with angry satisfaction. How could he possibly be an instrument in the betterment of Hanzo’s life, like this? He could not even be around his brother without a queasy, angry mix coiling in his body.

“I don’t know if I can ever...you and I are both different people now. We’re not brothers anymore. We’re strangers.”

 

It was fascinating, in its own pathetic way. How could two men share a childhood together, and end up so different? How could they walk out of the same home, and yet have the whole world separating them?

Strangers in all but blood. Genji was right. Hanzo may have grown up with him, but he no longer knew the man in this room.

Just… strangers. It left a bitter taste in his mouth.

Hanzo slowly sat up. He was well-versed in balancing himself without the extra help of his legs by now, so he made it look natural.

“I wasn’t asking for your help.” Only to die. But if Genji would not give him that, Hanzo would not ask for more. “But I won’t… I can’t let you go again.”

Every time Genji left his line of sight, Hanzo questioned if he was real. To leave again, for years… the despair of it would  _ strangle _ him. “I just want to be close to you. Nothing else is necessary.”

 

“How do you propose I keep you close?” He had missions. A commander. An organization. He was an agent of Blackwatch. How could he keep his brother close, if he didn’t stay in the same base for more than a week? How could he reconnect with Hanzo, if he would only see him on the rare occasions they crossed paths with Overwatch?

“My life is not so free as that I can keep you somewhere in it.”

 

“I could join Blackwatch.” He had no moral qualms with what they might want from him, and a wide array of skills that would be useful. He didn’t think he could just  _ volunteer _ , but where Genji was… he would follow.

“Whatever is necessary, I can do.” He’d been ready to lay down his life if Genji demanded it. What was this compared to that?

 

No one volunteered for Blackwatch. That’s not how things worked. You had to be chosen, for drive or loyalty, whatever was required. Genji’s knowledge of the Shimada had afforded him an easy addition to the ranks. Hanzo could offer even more.

Logically, nothing spoke against Hanzo joining the organization, except for the lack of loyalty provided. True, Blackwatch was more liberal about it than Overwatch, given as they had no public image to foster, but loyalty was valued nonetheless. And Hanzo’s only motivation was Genji being a part of Blackwatch.

“You would have the same expectations placed on you. To destroy what you once upheld as your ideal, your utmost honor. And even then, it might not be enough.”

Would Hanzo go so far? He would prove himself to Genji, if no one else, if he eradicated the Shimada and any clan like them. Maybe then...Genji would vouch for him.

 

To kill… to be a  _ weapon _ … Hanzo had left the clan because they’d tried to turn him on his brother. Had succeeded in it.

But could he let himself be that again, for a different purpose? Could he allow himself to be turned into another man’s tool to destroy? It was obvious what they would use him for. The same purpose Genji had been put to.

_ Eradication of the Shimada. _

His former home. His clan. The people who carried his surname as their banner of pride - could he turn on them, just to follow Genji?

_ Why not? _

His honored father was dead. The elders who’d turned him on Genji were in power. The few friends he had… perhaps Hanzo could make sure the fist that fell to punish them would fall on those who deserved it. Otherwise… what was the clan to him but the symbol of his greatest regret?

To follow the clan, or to follow Genji - it was a decision made a year ago.

The dragon that was the pillar of the Shimada-gumi were no more. They would fall anyway, sooner or later. The blade that cuts clean was the most merciful kind. It was its own peculiar honor - to go down against another giant, rather than to fade into obscurity.

“The Shimada-gumi lost me the day I lost you.”

 

That was as much an answer as Hanzo would offer to him. Genji knew he should appreciate the depth of his brother’s loyalty to him, but it was steeped in guilt and everything Hanzo had lost on the way. This husk of his brother, was there hope for him? Who else but Genji could hope to rescue Hanzo from the aimless course he was on?

He took a few steps to stand before the bed Hanzo was still on.

“Then I will see to it that you get your chance.”

At redemption, perhaps. At reconnecting with Genji? He couldn’t say. Not yet. But he would make a start, and give Hanzo the chance he did not deserve.

 

A chance. It was still uncertain. Who was to say that Commander Reyes would not reject his offer? All things were uncertain , and Hanzo was not a gambling man when it came to family.

He scooted to the edge of the bed, where he could pick up his prostheses and put them on. The process was painless - these custom-made ones were fitted to each nerve in his knee, not allowing for even a microsecond’s delay in reaction time. It could be argued that they were even better than his original legs.

“Come closer, Genji. Sit.”

Genji did, though it was an awkward affair. Gingerly, he chose the edge of the bed. Closer was not necessary. They were already in a room together, which was much more private than any previous location. Nothing would inhibit their time other than their own words.

The legs drew his eye, if only so he could avoid looking Hanzo in the face. He’d left a mark on his brother too, but it didn’t give him much in the ways of satisfaction. It was a mere memento that he had not gone down without a fight, but it paled in comparison to the fury of Hanzo’s dragons, devouring him.

 

The dip in the bed was another assurance that Genji was real, and here. Hanzo found himself amazed each time nonetheless, and absurdly grateful to whoever had saved his brother in the first place. Prostheses handled, he turned to Genji.

His… handiwork.

Slowly, he raised his hand. It hovered, clearly wanting to reach out and touch. “May I?” he asked simply.

 

Genji leaned back instinctively. Touching was one of those things he’d lost when most of his body had been wasted away. What remained of it was fragile, despite the deceptive polymer and metal. But Hanzo wasn’t seeking to damage him now, right? He just wanted to feel...something. Perhaps to relate to him, given his legs.

Genji relaxed the tension in his shoulder. Nothing to be afraid of...right.

“...If you must.”

 

The first thought that came to him was that Genji felt  _ human _ . Hanzo hadn’t been sure what to expect - metal underneath his skin, maybe? It was foolish, but a dread had curled up inside him. Now, it was gone. Genji’s shoulder felt like human flesh, bone, and skin - damaged, yes, but  _ alive _ .

Somehow, this point of contact was enough. Hanzo’s anxieties calmed themselves enough for him to relax and  _ accept _ that maybe, just  _ maybe _ , his brother was alive and this wasn’t a fever dream Hanzo had made up.

He didn’t cry, but there was a definite lump in his throat. “You’re alive,” he said, more to himself than anything else. 

_ You’re here. _

His head hung. “I… I  _ missed _ you.”

 

Genji felt his heart clench, for a moment, long enough to savor what Hanzo had admitted. It was a declaration in itself, even if it also drew bile into his throat. Missed him. As if Hanzo hadn’t been the hand to take it all in the first place. Why didn’t he think about how much he loved his brother before executing him?

Genji had to bite his tongue, and he said nothing, Hanzo’s hand a heavy weight on his shoulder. The skin burned with memories at the touch. The last time...

Gods, he had to try not to remember vividly.

“You’re a lousy assassin.”

It wasn’t quite humorous, there was too much sting in his voice, but he could offer an olive branch, right?

 

“I am a failure in many aspects,” Hanzo agreed. His pride had yet to recover from the self-inflicted beating it’d gotten since Genji’s ‘death’. He was still as caustic and cool as ever, but losing one’s last family member through a short-sighted mistake had a way of destroying poisonous arrogance. Hanzo was stripped down to his very roots, and willing to show it in front of the only person who  _ deserved _ to see it.

“You are an exceptional one, on the other hand.”

Hanzo had been impressed by their meeting in the shrine. His impression had only grown once he fought alongside Genji. The fluid grace he displayed had shown its fledgling stages in their boyhood, but he’d never been so  _ practiced _ .

“Maybe it should have been you who was born first.” While Hanzo fell, Genji rose. He was proud, in a peculiar, guilty fashion.

 

“I would never have become this way for the Shimada.” Genji wanted to put an end to this endless stream of guilt. Hanzo shouldn’t lose sight of what Genji had been, even before his near-death. Rebellious and unwilling to do what was expected of him. A wild, passionate young man who lived his vices to excess in defiance of his cold family. The disappointing counterweight to Hanzo’s excellence.

“I am not unaware of the irony of what I have become.”

 

He tried to imagine Genji,  _ this _ Genji, in the clan. Somehow, the thought seemed repulsive. It was  _ right _ , but it was also  _ wrong _ . The Genji of before would never be like this, not without Hanzo’s betrayal.

“Irony defines us both, then.” Genji, the perfect assassin after being cut down for being a disappointment. Hanzo, the cowardly traitor unfit to even lead himself when he’d once been the crown jewel of the Shimada-gumi.

Life was strange, indeed. His eyes went to Genji’s arm. His  _ mechanical _ arm.

“Do you still have your tattoo?”

 

“How could I?”

Genji lifted his right arm, stretching out each digit of his hand, allowing the shuriken to pop up from between his knuckles. Nothing about the limb was skin or human anymore, and the tattoo he once bore had burned up along with his flesh and bone. His dragon had left him, he was sure, until he needed it at his side. It was not bound to the ink, not the way Hanzo’s were.

“My right arm and my entire lower body are gone.”

 

The guilt was reflexive at this point. Why was Hanzo even surprised by the depths of his crime? The ashes he’d been told were from Genji’s cremation had likely been from the remnants of his body, or what was left of it, anyway.

His own tattoo itched, but he knew no dragon would come out of it. They’d refused to come to him after he turned them on his brother.

“Your dragon… responds to you. Mine no longer does.”

His tattoo was still in place. The dragons still shifted. But they would not come  _ out _ .

 

“I cannot blame them.” 

Genji saw the tattoo, but it didn’t bring back anything good. The dragons had only done what their master asked. They were strange creatures of power, the birthright of the Shimada, and yet both of their masters had turned their back on the clan. Genji’s dragon had only emerged a few times, to protect him. Hanzo had forced his to do his bidding.

Maybe they would never respond again, as Hanzo had fallen so far from grace. 

“But I feel them still.”

He dared reach out, one finger pressing lightly to Hanzo’s left arm. The blue ink under the skin felt alive.

 

The dragons writhed, responding to the sudden touch. Though they didn’t raise their scales out from the boundaries of Hanzo’s arm, the ink itself waved. Hanzo’s arm tensed in discomfort as the ink slid across his skin and the dragons seemed to peer up at Genji.

“They were there. They simply will not obey me any longer.” Not that Hanzo could blame them, either. They had also devoured the arm that bore the tattoo holding Genji’s own dragon - everything else merely proved that he was no master worth obeying.

“They probably prefer you to me, now.”

 

Genji moved his hand away, anger slowly crawling up his spine again. This self-depreciation his brother was committing to was exhausting. If they were going to continue to be in each other’s proximity...it would continue to be an obstacle.

He wasn’t ready to hold Hanzo up to keep him from falling. The wounds were still too raw for that.

“Perhaps they don’t recognize you anymore. I can sympathize with them.”

 

All he offered was a listless shrug. Hanzo stared at his tattoo and carefully, gently dared to lean against Genji. It wasn’t much - their shoulder barely brushed. But this was the closest they’d been for so long and Hanzo let himself enjoy it.

His world was being deconstructed. He was slowly destroying himself. He’d signed himself over to an organization that would use him to kill his former family.

But, here and now, Hanzo could let himself be warmed by a tiny ember of happiness.

All was not well, but it  _ could _ be.

“Perhaps that is a good thing, Genji. Some things are better off left behind.”

 

Genji didn’t need to add any fuel to the fire that was destroying Hanzo, and he was angry at it for robbing him of his rightful vengeance. All he could was sigh, suck in air and remain silent. Whatever this road was they were embarking on, it would be one they took together, for better or for worse.

“It’s not that simple. Else you’d leave them behind too.”


	3. Chapter 3

The awkward situation in their hotel room was a difficult one. Both Genji and Hanzo were unsure of how to deal with each other - years of unsaid things piled up between them and neither side seemed willing to completely bow down. Even Hanzo, for all his self-flagellating disgust, couldn’t bow entirely.

They walked on eggshells with each other. Tentative olive branches were given. They stopped keeping a room between themselves. But their conversations were stilted, and Hanzo still looked at Genji as if he wasn’t sure if he was real. He reached out, here and there, and touched his shoulders. Then sometimes, something reminded him of his guilt and he shut down to broodily drink and smoke until he was fit for human company.

The armistice they reached wasn’t too bad, overall, but not good. Extraction was almost a relief.

 

Extraction was only the beginning of a problematic journey, so to say. At least for Genji, because he was the one to report to Reyes. Yes, the mission had been a success. Yes, Hanzo’s intel had been valid and useful and he had not once displayed anything worth suspicion. Yes, Genji did have to report everything emotional that lingered like flies around the two of them.

His commander had seemed doubtful and Genji did not blame him for it at all. If he was in Reyes’ position, he would question the wisdom of vouching for Hanzo too. 

Eventually, Reyes seemed convinced. At least of his dedication to the cause, because Hanzo was given a trial stay. It fell to Genji to show him around and share a bunk. Blackwatch HQ was not designed for comfort, and it changed locations frequently.

The current ship it was on was merely a temporary measure.

 

Hanzo was no stranger to uncomfortable stays, but this was a new level. He peered around the tight quarters and the stark measures that had gone into this ship. It was lovely… on the outside. Inside, it was a different story.

“Are there other agents on board?” he asked as he cautiously circled the room that was to become theirs. It was cramped, but at least there was space for his bow and quiver. Hanzo didn’t have much in the way of personal possessions besides that. There was also the matter of the uniform issued.

It was bland. Dark. Skin-tight. There was no label or logo to be seen. Hanzo rubbed the material, frowning. Would they expect him to remove his ribbon too? 

 

“Only a few at a time. It’s not a barrack.”

Genji had stayed in worse places than this. Every HQ had facilities for omnic and medical care, which covered his needs. He rarely made use of a bunk, since sleeping was merely a force of habit. He wouldn’t mind surrendering his to Hanzo’s use.

The uniform was not yet on his body, but Genji doubted Hanzo would object to simple black. Although he did have a knack for dressing a little traditionally, his former brother was actually rather pragmatic for being raised as the heir of a wealthy house.

“There’s only a schedule if you have missions. You can use this,” Genji patted the bottom bunk, “I’m rarely here.”

 

Hanzo had seen no others that fit the bill. Were they the only ones here, at the time? Resolving to study that later, he continued to examine the small room. Genji’s statement made him turn, brows furrowed.

“Why will you not be here?” Would Genji have more missions than him? That made sense, even if it grated. But yet… he wanted to keep Genji where he could see him. Just until Hanzo could stop his feeling of loss. It was silly, but it came up anyway.

Hanzo began to strip. The uniform looked like it would fit him, at least. His usual wear was folded and placed on the top bunk - Hanzo preferred that - and he dressed. No boots - they must’ve known he had no need for them.

 

“No I just don’t stay here when I rest.” Genji watched, didn’t even think of turning away. It honestly didn’t occur to him that common courtesy was still a matter that applied to him anymore.

“I have needs that have to be met in a specialized facility.”

As in, he had to lay in a tube, submerged in some sort of goo for at least fourteen hours every week to charge and maintain his omnic parts. His body was a prototype and far from perfect. Malfunction would mean permanent death, so Genji maintained a rigorous schedule.

“I can show it to you so you know where to find me.”

 

“That sounds good.” It didn’t, but Hanzo’s curiosity demanded to be sated. The guilt was easily pushed aside - he had to focus now. So Genji wasn’t entirely self sufficient - that made sense. Lack of technological ability, or a tool for Blackwatch to make sure he remained loyal?

“Do you have a primary physician?” If a sole doctor was to be in charge of his brother’s health, then Hanzo intended to meet them. And divine their entire past and make sure he had leverage on them, but Genji didn’t need to know that.

He pulled off the ribbon for now. The turtleneck was a close fit, and the tactical pants conspicuously missed everything below the knee. He stuffed the rest of it into his prostheses, and ended up looking like a nondescript Blackwatch agent and not an international criminal.

 

“Not anymore. My initial...treatment was handled by a specialist. Everything else is more omnic maintenance than anything else, really.” Genji gave his brother a once over. He looked so...nondescript. As if he was just another face in the crowd, and not a former yakuza heir and assassin. It was odd to put him into so casual a context.

“Come on.”

Best not to linger. His lung had been aching, his arm twitching. Maintenance was almost overdue.

 

A specialist. More things to look into.

Hanzo followed Genji. The ship was larger than he’d expected - his internal clock said they had to have walked for half an hour before they reached their destination. It was considerably larger than their cramped bunk room, but was chock full of equipment. Much of it looked medical, but unsuited for human use.

Hanzo examined a few as he followed Genji. The biggest structure, however, was a massive tube that went from floor to ceiling. It was empty, but Hanzo suspected it would not be for long.

“This it?”

 

Genji simply nodded. It was obvious to him, considering the tank was the only feature of the room worth mentioning. Considering he needed it routinely, he'd learned to operate the prepped settings and how to get himself inside without any help, which was somewhat liberating considering he was missing most of his body.

Today, he'd need full maintenance and he was not ashamed to let Hanzo see him like this. It wasn't an issue of vulnerability, it was a matter of reality. Genji’s reality, since he woke from certain death.

“Wait here a moment. You'll see what it does.”

Whether or not Hanzo wanted to was out of the question. Genji couldn't think about it as the mechanized claw lifted his torso out of his legs and into the tank, holding him until it filled up entirely with translucent, viscous liquid. Tubes came and ensnared his mouth and nose, small lines and thick cables plugged into his torso. Floating here made him forget about how little man remained at all. 

“ _ Full maintenance cycle engaged. Estimated time of completion; 840 minutes.” _

The tank announced as Genji kept his eyes open and on Hanzo.

 

“What -” Hanzo startled when the tank suddenly opened and a claw reached out. He had expected Genji to  _ walk in _ , not just… get plucked up. Consternation knitted his brow as the machine parts of his brother remained and his chest - _ only _ his chest - was nestled into the tank. Though he was silent through the process, a hundred questions raced through his mind.

His eyes flicked down to the clear separation between his body and the cybernetics. It felt like a slap in the face. A reminder so stark that Hanzo’s slow reconciliation of Genji and  _ that _ was shattered like sugar glass.

His hand rested on the tank. Their eyes met through the glass and Hanzo sucked in a slow, rattling breath.

Surely, he could not talk with his mouth covered. But… could he move?

Tentatively, Hanzo tapped on the glass. His touch was light, as if worried he might break it, and stuck to a simple pattern. Morse Code. Another leftover of their boyhood, back when they were still close enough to need their own secret way of communicating.

_ Can you move? _

 

It took Genji a long moment to categorize the taps. Ah. How very like Hanzo to use something from their childhood to overcome this barrier. What if Genji had purged those particular memories? He didn’t, but what if it had been the case? Hanzo would need to make a consistent effort to get to know the new Genji if he wanted to have a brother at all.

In response to the question, he nodded and pressed his right hand to the glass. The tubes dangled beneath his torso, floating in the liquid. Genji liked to think he looked alien and eldritch, not pathetic and incomplete.

 

Their hands would’ve touched if it weren’t for the glass in between. Hanzo’s expression cleared out, carefully controlled, even if he was internally disturbed by the strange, ethereal way Genji hung in his tank. He looked… disturbing - closer to Hanzo’s nightmares than reality.

He tapped out another message.

_ Do you just hang there? What do you have to do? _

Eight hundred and forty minutes sounded like quite a long time. Could Genji go into hibernation, or something similar, or did he have to hang there? It sounded terribly dull.

 

Genji hesitated a moment before he began to tap back. He’d never had company in here like this before. 

_ Sometimes I play chess with the computer. _

Medical staff had viewed him now and then, but never bothered to attempt any communication with him as a form of entertainment. Genji would have welcomed any such tries, but he’d long since settled into the brooding silence the tank evoked in him.

 

Hanzo grimaced.

Genji, as he knew him, would’ve  _ hated _ that. He’d always been so excitable, so vibrant as if he could not get enough of everything. He was different now, yes, but Hanzo didn’t think that he was completely different. Maybe it was his own hopeful imagination providing what he wanted to see, maybe it was reality… but Hanzo couldn’t see Genji being  _ pleased _ about such prolonged isolation.

_ I could stay with you, if you like _ .

The minutes translated into fourteen hours. Not bad. Hanzo had stayed silent and still for longer than that, in the name of training.

_ Chess, read a book, anything. You did say we had no schedules if there were no missions. _

 

_ You don’t have to do that. _

Fourteen hours was a long time, and Hanzo would have to be tapping glass the entire time in a vague effort to spend time with his brother. Was he really so desperate that they reconnect? It was...a little touching. Genji could admit to that, even if it didn’t solve anything else.

But he really  _ hated _ playing chess. Especially with a computer. And it was much easier to talk without opening his mouth at all.

_ Maybe you could just stay here. I never have company. _

 

_ If that is what suits you. _

He scanned the cramped room. While most of the equipment was dark, Hanzo was still cautious not to touch them. He didn’t know which ones might be necessary for the tank, nor did he want to give Blackwatch any ability to accuse him of putting his fingers where they did not belong. A slow circumnavigation of the room revealed a dusty stool in a corner.

He hooked it over to Genji’s tank with his foot. Nestled between the wall and the tank, but still in full view of his brother, Hanzo sat. He balanced on the stool with easy practiced grace, cross-legged, and relaxed enough to achieve the meditative position that’d been drilled into him since his pre-teens.

_ I hope that they are looking into ways to eliminate this need. _

If not, Hanzo would have to have  _ talks _ with whoever was responsible.

 

_ This is a prototype. I didn’t want a full omnic body, which they offered to me. _

Although it could be argued that what remained of Genji’s body was ridiculously little and probably had no true use, it was what made him human. And Genji was not ready to let that go, even if it was an arm, half a lung, his heart, pieces of his ribcage. 

The tank began to bubble a little, a few more tubes coming to link up with his right side. Fluid exchange was especially important in such a small system such as his, but Genji had not bothered to learn which bit did what. He watched his blood leave his chest through a thin, transparent tube, replaced by a fresh supply from another.

 

Merely observing Genji was interesting all on its own. Hanzo watched him silently. He examined the way the fluids slowly moved through clear tubes, and measured the rise and fall of Genji’s half-torso. He could barely glimpse the scar-riddled underside of his chest, but he had no desire to study  _ that _ further. Not until he felt less inclined to be sick, anyway.

He’d witnessed a thousand crime scenes worse than any of this. Somehow, his iron nerve broke when it came to just this.

Family had a way of doing that to you, Hanzo supposed.

_ I understand, _ he offered through his taps.  _ As long as they improve what they have, all is well. _

Maybe Hanzo could contact the people who made his prostheses. They were no miracle workers, but the underground had a way of collecting talents. Some…  _ recruiting _ might be at hand, in the future.

He filed it away for thoughts that would merit deeper, further consideration.

_ I am glad you did not choose to fully convert yourself _ .

Could Hanzo have accepted Genji so readily if there wasn’t human flesh for him to glimpse? He did not know, and did not care to find out.

_ What do you do when you are not on missions, and not being maintained? _

 

_ Training. This body needs constant fine-tuning. Muscle memory doesn’t translate well if every movement isn’t patterned. _

Aside from that, there was no free time for personal pursuits. Not for Genji. He didn’t want it. He didn’t miss personal relationships, vices, everything he’d ever done to distract himself. Blackwatch wasn’t like that, and neither was Genji, anymore. His missions had become everything, and the rest of it was spent waiting and preparing for the next.

_ You still hate omnics. _

 

Training. Hanzo frowned a small bit, unsure how he felt about that. Instead, he chose to focus on his latter words.

_ I don’t hate them. _

He thought they were dangerous machines, sure, but he did not  _ hate _ them. That required much more  _ thought _ and  _ effort _ .

_ I just don’t like them. _

Besides, what if Genji ran a risk of being controlled by an omnium by having an omnic body? Could that happen?

_ Strange that you would say that, when you are a member of Blackwatch, the original omnic killers. _

 

_ I didn’t say you shouldn’t. _

Genji didn’t have strong feelings about omnics before most of his body had to be turned into one. Now, he despised the parts of himself he couldn’t feel. The parts of himself he could detach, just like that. The readings ran past his eyes through the implants, and that was all he’d ever know of everything below his ribcage.

Parts of what served as replacement, he had not even examined. There were aspects of being a man he would never recover, no matter what was made of polymer in an effort to make him feel more human.

_ I would be stronger and faster if I let go of my flesh. But I am not ready. _

 

_ Many of us would be stronger if we let go of what makes us human. That does not mean we should. _

Who was Hanzo to argue about morals? Yet, he felt like he had a duty to convince Genji to keep his human remnants, if only because that was  _ right _ . Sacrificing the last portions of his body wasn’t right - even if he would be stronger for it.

_ Are they trying to convince you to convert? _

 

_ Not so much convince.  _

It would be more convenient if his entire body was replaceable. The amount of reckless behavior in his missions would increase exponentially if every limb could simply be forged anew when he got home. But Genji was afraid of going so far, even now. What would he be? Who would he be? Still Genji? Or just a perfect copy, machine-made to mimic his years of unwanted training? 

It wasn’t a question he could discuss with anyone, simply because he wasn’t close with any one person in such a way.

Hanzo wasn’t a prospect for it either, though.

_ I am less than half human. A man no more. _

 

_ Your humanity is not defined by your flesh. _

Hanzo wasn’t pretentious enough to assume he could understand even a fraction of what Genji was going through. However, the dark tilt in his brother’s thoughts alarmed him. To question your own humanity… what must that be like?

Hanzo’s eyes slid to the inert mass of cybernetics that had held his brother’s remnants. It was dark now - it would likely be cold if he reached out to touch it. It was not alive, no more than a car or a computer was alive. It was the machine that let his brother move like a man - the machine that dominated his brother’s life. It dictated everything he did.

But did that make him less than human?

_ You are no more omnic than I am. Even if your whole body was cybernetic, you would be nothing like them. _

His brother’s humanity could never be stifled. Just as his dragon proved his heritage, the quality of  _ human _ was innate within him.

_ An omnic in the skin of a man is still an omnic. Just the same, cybernetics or not, Genji, you are human still. _

 

_ That is easy for you to say.  _

Hanzo only lost a fraction of his body, and not one that implicated his future. Family, children, something to pass on, even if Genji had never thought about wanting any of it, he had no chance now. It was taken from him, like so many others. How could he not be bitter? What was humanity if it still pertained to him?

_ I am but a talking head. I only live for vengeance. _

 

_ I’m sorry. _

Hanzo had no reply after that, so he made no effort to tap further messages. How could he convince someone who did not wish to be convinced?

These hours were going to pass rather slowly, he could tell. Genji’s anger never seemed so close, so vivid, as it did when he was trapped in this glass prison. Hanzo stared steadily at the far wall, cataloguing its details, so he could avoid looking at Genji.

Memories of the clan, of his life on the run, of Genji swam in front of his eyes. Distant names faded in and out. One chapter of his life was fully closed now - and the next yet to open.

Before Genji. After Genji. It was like a bookmark.

 

Hanzo’s silent company was both comfortable and discomforting. He was here, sharing in the consequences of his poor decision. Whether or not he was sorry didn’t matter to what Genji had become. There remained the anger, the blame. No matter how many apologies may cross his brother’s lips, Genji could not forgive so easily. His human life was over, there was no doubt about it.

The hours ticked by slowly, in grim silence, Genji left to his bitter thoughts. What was he going to do with Hanzo here, in Blackwatch? Some part of him had been convinced he could begin on the road to redemption with Hanzo, take down the Shimada together. It was a start, wasn’t it? But what lingered between them was dangerous and fractured. It was on a blade’s edge, their relationship. And even here, it was up to Genji to change the course. Hanzo was not yet turned from the error of his ways, from the falsity of the honor they’d grown up to cherish. Once that happened, and the last of Hanzo was broken down before this new life, then Genji may find it in him to forgive the betrayal. Only then.

 

-x-

 

There was no silence quite like the silence between two people with no idea what to say to each other. Time trickled by them both in ways that were simultaneously too fast and too slow. Caught up in the purgatory of their own awkwardness, they were both doomed to a quiet solitude in shared company. Hanzo wasn’t prone to fidgeting but his fingers twitched back and forth between the glass, as if thinking to say something and retracting it at the last minute.

Eventually, the hours passed. Hanzo took short, shallow cat naps in between, managing to stay upright and sitting even as he slept, and woke at the smallest sound. Once a cool voice announced that Genji was ready to step out of his tank, and hydraulic arms descended from the ceiling to pluck him out, Hanzo was already leaving.

He didn’t rush - his steps were slow and measured, and clearly articulated to announce his presence among the dark morbid hallways of the ship. Hanzo rarely needed to directly announce his intention to Genji - if he wanted to be heard, then he wanted to be followed.

_ Mess Hall _ . One sign said. Hanzo veered away from it, not wanting to meet new people. More shiny plaques indicated different rooms. Hanzo approached the stairs, intending to explore the depths of the ship while he was allowed free movement.

 

By the time Genji’s torso rested on the rest of his cybernetic body securely, Hanzo had disappeared. It was odd, after he spent so much time waiting on Genji to finish up. Was that all the company he could stand, or did he have other plans? Genji debated whether or not he could leave Hanzo on his own, but decided against it. His brother, whom he vouched for, was his responsibility.

The ship wasn’t huge, but it had many corridors, corners, dark little spaces where anyone could disappear. Genji should search them, but he doubted he’d find Hanzo if he didn’t want to be found.

Maybe something else instead. Training, for calibration, was always an option. So to the deck that contained the spacious training facility he went.

 

Hanzo’s movement on the ship was not, however, without supervision. Reyes would watch the newest recruit with all the scrutiny he deserved.

 

Hanzo took his time exploring the ship. One of the most crucial pieces of knowledge was knowing one’s surroundings - where was a good place to ambush somebody? A place to hide? Keen eyes spotted every available nook and cranny until Hanzo had to admit that he could no longer avoid going above. The chances of  _ more  _ people than he wanted to deal with being there was higher, but that was a necessary sacrifice.

The decks reserved for crew use were next. There was the bunks, the lavatories, and, again, the mess hall, but something else caught his eye. A massive space on the ship was reserved for… agents? Not just crew, but for training and such…

Would it have a shooting range? He would have to see.

 

The training facility was spacious, but it couldn’t house everything simultaneously. The shooting range had to fold away to give Genji the room he needed to move. Sometimes, he used an obstacle course of hostile drones to work with, programmed to move as omnics did, but more often than not, he trained with other agents, so he could fine-tune his capabilities against true skill.

Finding a volunteer to join him though, that proved more difficult. Sometimes, agents from Overwatch found their way to them. Sometimes, McCree had to shoot for his life when Genji lost the control to pull his punches, so to say. He hoped today wouldn’t be so bad, but from the thundercloud clinging to the man’s head, Jesse wasn’t sure he’d be so lucky.

“Ya ready Genji?”

 

Ah, yes. This was the right room. The flash of black and red caught his eye - Genji. And someone else - just a person, though. The room was wide and well-lit, letting Hanzo peer in without undue effort.

Had he interrupted a training session?

It looked like he had, though it didn’t seem to be a very clean one. The blows exchanged were harsh, jagged - meant to hurt, not spar. A training session, or a venting session?

Hanzo slipped in, leaned against the door, arms crossed, and settled to watch. 

 

Jesse noticed fairly swiftly that they were being observed, but there was nothing he could do about it, because there was a furious dragon trying to swipe at him. Genji lost himself in ‘sparring’ too easily, crossing the line between training and fight to the death with fluid ease. Jesse was used to it, but it still got his adrenaline pumping to deal with the cyber-ninja in a rage. It was certainly good preparation for the worst case scenario, the silent thought and fear of many of the other agents; an omnic-aligned Genji would be a huge problem, and it was not impossible.

 

Not that Genji knew about this.

“Take it easy partner!” he called, dodging under a metal pipe to block the blow from Genji’s sword.

 

Things were getting a touch too frantic, in Hanzo’s seasoned opinion. His eyes narrowed, focused on Genji. He was moving too erratically. Everything about him screamed  _ murder _ , not  _ train _ . Briefly, Hanzo considered interfering, before brushing it away.  If that agent could not survive his brother during this, he didn’t deserve to anyway. His bow was in their bunk, so it wasn’t as if he could begin shooting. Not that he was ever entirely unarmed without his bow and arrows, but hand-to-hand with an enraged, cybernetically enhanced human was asking for punishment.

A shot hit the door, just a few inches away from his head. Hanzo eyed the hole, unimpressed. “Perhaps you should reign it in,” he said, loud enough for Genji to hear. His dragons writhed uneasily, sensing the turbulent presence of their brother.

 

Genji stilled like an apex predator threatened by another, turning his attentions away from McCree. Jesse might be relieved for the brief pause, but Hanzo’s presence didn’t bode well for the state the cyberninja was in.

“Hey. You probably shouldn’t be in here.” He glanced at Genji, who was very still, and dangerously silent.

“You’re interrupting, Hanzo.”

Genji’s tone was low, but his eyes were blazing as they pinned Hanzo to the spot.

 

“You’re too intense,” he retorted. Hanzo didn’t shift an inch as he met Genji’s furious gaze head-on, coolly assessing. “Temper yourself.”

The warning went unheeded. Hanzo did not worry for his physical safety here - not with Genji. They’d both done worse to each other before, and that line went uncrossed in an unspoken agreement between them. Hanzo did not think that Genji would cross it here and now, blade out or not.

“I thought Blackwatch frowned upon harming each other.” A brow lifted.

 

“I’m okay.” Jesse interrupted, almost intimidated by the intensity of the focus between the brothers. He’d barely been briefed about the new agent and his familial relation to Genji, and now he was witnessing it first-hand. No thank you. This was not a friendly atmosphere.

“Tempering myself defeats the purpose of combat.”

Genji wasn’t interested in arguing, but he was definitely interested in having a different partner for this session. McCree wasn’t challenging him today.

“Step in for Jesse.”

“I was done anyway.” Jesse took the chance and holstered his guns.

 

“That is what I thought. I was wrong.” Temperance meant control. Power without control was nothing but a fire gone out of control.

Hanzo stepped in slowly, moving forward while the agent retreated. He eyed Genji’s blade.

“I don’t have my bow. Hand to hand, or arm me.” He didn’t care enough to run back to the bunks. It’d been awhile since he had a  _ really _ challenging spar without it anyway. Practice would do him good.

Hanzo moved softly, as delicate and precise as a cat. The air was thick with tension, taut and tense as a plucked violin string.

 

Genji sheathed his blade pointedly. Even in hand-to-hand, he should have the advantage. Hanzo had years of training, however, even without his bow, and his style was much more suited to dealing with Genji’s.

They moved around one another, each waiting for an opening, a move, like large cats circling prey.

“All those lessons in our childhood came in useful after all,” Genji spoke, voice still low, lights blazing. He was angry, vengeful, as always when locked in combat. He stilled once more, tensed, before springing forward, a frontal assault to test Hanzo’s defenses.

 

Hanzo reacted the second Genji acted, as agile and quick-witted as his brother. A fight between them was always vicious, always brutal - but also elegant, in its own way. The two of them were peak fighters, trained since childhood to be the best among the best, and the wear and tear of the years hadn’t done anything to harm their prodigious skill.

The exchange was short-lived and angry. Blood flew, mixed with sweat. Hanzo breathed heavily, considerably more battered than Genji but unwilling to stand down. The cybernetics didn’t take damage like a human body did - so Hanzo aimed for every vulnerable tube and joint, aiming to stun Genji and pull him into a grapple. Minutes ticked by as they circled one another, sprang into combat then flew apart apart with furious, restrained energy.

Hanzo tasted copper. There was blood in his mouth.

His lip curled in a faint snarl. His mouth felt wet but his heart was singing to the beat of violence. Blood roared in his ears and the world had shrunk down again, until he only saw the blood red of Genji’s eyes.

 

The world fell away completely. Their combat began, planned and careful, but quickly devolved into something more primal. Rage fuelled Genji’s movements, made him erratic and hard to predict. The simmering anger was desperate to find relief in this form. On Hanzo’s body, with Hanzo’s blood.

It blinded him. He was punching, kicking, biting, until his mouth filled with the coppery taste and his lips slick with blood. It felt good. It felt so _ good _ . It wasn’t a dummy, or a substitute, it was  _ Hanzo _ . The man who had changed, ended and destroyed his life.

It wasn’t until a green glow took his body, wound its way around his arm, his hand on Hanzo’s throat, that anything or anyone saw fit to interrupt. 

“Shimada!”

Reyes’ sounded beyond angry, and that was saying something considering the man. He didn’t wait for Genji to turn and snap at him, instead uttering a series of numbers, loudly and clear across the mayhem of the two brawling bodies.

Genji’s biolights winked out and his eyes rolled back as he collapsed onto his brother, a heavy, limp weight. 

Reyes sighed as he came over, staring down at the pile of Shimadas.

“For fuck’s sake. You two can’t even be in a room together?”

 

One moment, Hanzo was snarling back up at his brother, teeth bared and eyes bright and the next… nothing. He was surprised - offended, even. The fight had been  _ good _ . There’d been no pretensions between them, no worries about watchers or enemies - just the two of them, wordlessly spilling out their rage through blood.

He didn’t go as far as to  _ snap _ at Gabriel Reyes, but he did sneer. His tattoo was bothering him again, excited as they were at the appearance of their long-lost brother. It’d… it’d almost felt like they would come out too.

Another reason to be sorely disappointed by the abrupt end.

Hanzo nudged Genji, and frowned when he was unresponsive.

“What did you do to him?” he said, voice tight as he rolled out from under his brother. He understood why it was necessary - that did not mean he  _ liked  _ the fact that his brother could be turned into a motionless doll on command.

_ Another thing to look into _ . No one could have that sort of power over Genji.

 

“Knocked him out.” Reyes’ voice was tightly controlled but the scowl on his face was not. He turned Genji over, but left him where he was on the ground. Better to let the younger Shimada cool down a bit before allowing him free movement again.

“So much of his body is cybernetic it’s not unlikely he could be hacked and controlled.”

He didn’t need to imply that the baseline command could do more than simply knock Genji unconscious. His body, his human form, it could not survive without the technology fused with him. In the worst case scenario, he was an asset to be destroyed.

 

Hanzo bristled at the implication. Did Reyes  _ mean _ to include that, or was it just bluntly offered information. Did he intend Hanzo to take it in any way.

All mysteries, as far as he was concerned. All he knew was that he didn’t like it.

Gaze unreadable, he glanced down at the downed form of his brother. Everything about him was inert, still. If it wasn’t for the way Hanzo could spy the faintest bit of life from him, he could’ve looked dead.

How undignified.

“Let him wake. The situation was under control.”

 

“I’ll be the judge of that. You’re done in here. Return to your quarters.”

He’d need to have a word with Genji. If this was the way he could be with his brother only, then this whole situation would not pan out. How could they be expected to complete their mission if they couldn’t even handle a sparring session?

Reyes didn’t allow for any argument, glowering down at Hanzo with the authority of a man who commanded madmen.

 

Hanzo’s eyes narrowed as he geared himself up for an argument - the wound down once his eyes fell back on Genji again. Arguing would win him nothing. Better he keep his head down for now, and let Reyes believe Blackwatch had tamed the dragon.

“Very well,” Hanzo replied, curt, and brushed past the other man on his way out. He made no effort to curtail the obvious displeasure in him - it would not do to act over-meek and raise suspicion. Also, Hanzo  _ was _ angry, though he controlled it better than Genji did.


	4. Chapter 4

It didn’t take all that long for Genji to follow his beaten brother to the only space they could have to themselves. He didn’t feel particularly great after the forced shutdown, and the commander had chewed him out for their conduct, but he needed somewhere to hole up and that was his bunk.

Genji stopped in the door, though, eyes clear of the rage that had taken him so easily. He didn’t feel angry at the sight of Hanzo, bearing obvious marks of their fight.

He sighed.

“...you look bad.”

 

Hanzo didn’t look up from his inspection of his arrows. His quiver and bow were on the bed with him, scattered as he examined each one for minute flaws that might negatively impact his aim. Hanzo was stringent about his equipment, after all.

The injuries from the spar were largely superficial. Hanzo had already cleaned off the blood, and determined that no teeth were damaged. Really, the harshest damage was a short cut on his forehead, a split lip, and a few bruises here and there. Hanzo had suffered worse training with the clan. Genji hadn’t wanted to disable him - hurt him, yes - but not  _ hurt _ . Otherwise, Hanzo should’ve been a few limbs short and a lot more broken.

“It will heal,” he waved dismissively. Keen eyes swept over Genji, scanning him for damage. He looked fine, but it didn’t reassure Hanzo. His brother had a  _ kill-switch _ .

“Come, Genji. Sit by me.”

 

Genji’s first impulse was childish defiance, the second was childish neediness. It was a mess, his fluctuating emotions towards Hanzo mingling with memories, garnished with the inherent loneliness of his life. There was so much he wanted to say, and yet couldn’t bring himself to. 

Instead, he did as he was asked and sat down opposite his brother, across the scattered arrows and bow. They were a familiar a sight as Hanzo himself.

“ Commander Reyes gave me a warning. We...should not train together. On base.”

 

“Then where else are we supposed to train?” A slow anger simmered in Hanzo’s chest. The commander had no comprehension of the complexity of their relationship - these spots of violence was the build-up to a grand stand down. They’d moved past that long ago. Now was the healing. The awkward refitting of the pieces to their personal puzzle. How were two born killers meant to fit together except in the throes of violence?

“You and I need constant practice to keep our skills sharp for what Blackwatch desires. To ask that, and then declare us ‘not allowed to train together’ is…” Hanzo’s lip lifted into a disdainful sneer, “...  _ simple-minded _ .”

An arrow clinked against another. Hanzo slowly gathered them up, mindful of the fletching. His quiver began to fill as he placed each arrow in their rightful spot. EMP. Net. Bomb. Flare. So on and so forth.

“He is over-reacting.”

 

“He is the commander.” Of course they both needed to keep their skills sharp, but that wasn’t necessarily done best together. Genji sucked in a deep breath, looking down at his hands rather than mapping out each of Hanzo’s arrows. He knew what they all did, each tip serving a different function in a certain situation...

“He had to knock me out. That hasn’t happened...since the first time. I lost control again. I could have killed you.”

 

“You would not have,” Hanzo said, calm. He paused over an arrow, eyes narrowed when he spotted a flaw in the polymer. “If you wanted to kill me, you would have in Hanamura. Not here. Not today.”

Not after Hanzo spent so much time throwing his life on Genji’s mercy, and being rebuffed time and time again. His nail scraped over the small whorl in the shaft. Not completely unworkable, but unsuitable for long distance sniping. Short distance use only. Acceptable, since this was a scatter arrow.

“If you wanted to kill me, Genji, you would have ripped my arms and legs off. I daresay you have the strength for that. Then you would’ve crushed my neck, my bones. I’ve seen you kill - you were not the same today.”

The arrow went into the quiver. Fully sorted, Hanzo reached for his bow. He’d restringed it before coming here, and it hadn’t seen enough use to warrant a change. Still, checking never hurt.

“He is the commander, yes. But he does not know you.”

_ Not like I do _ went unspoken.

 

“No. He does not.” Genji could agree to that. There was a little sullen elation in having someone on your side after you’ve been scolded, no matter how childish that feeling was. Having it be Hanzo, who had done plenty of scolding back in Genji’s other life...well he didn’t want to think about it.

His brother’s diligent inspections were a good distraction, but Genji’s gaze kept drifting back to Hanzo’s face. He was so calm now. It was a world of difference to the slow, furious storm that was the Shimada heir, crashing down on Genji at least once a month.

“Your dragons didn’t wake with mine.”

 

“They did not,” Hanzo agreed. His bow was in good condition - it could be left alone. He set it aside, just off to the side. He could grab it and have an arrow nocked within seconds, sleeping or not.

“I didn’t expect them to.” They were there, and they knew they could come out if they pleased. But they would not - not until they felt Hanzo was punished enough. Not even the appearance of their brother could prompt their resurgence. His dragons were as headstrong as their master, and would only choose to appear when it suited  _ them _ .

Hanzo rolled up his sleeve, until his tattoo was halfway visible. Perhaps it was just a trick of the light, but it looked like there was light swimming under his skin, in between the scales of the shrieking dragons that coiled up his arm. The ink waved slowly, as they often did when Genji was near.

“They are awake,” he said, “just not willing to come out. They are the ones who are the most upset about what I did.”

Hanzo looked up at Genji. “And they knew interference was not necessary with you.”

Not to mention the fact that the last time they came out on his bidding against Genji, it’d been in the very incident that nearly killed Genji.

 

It was saying something that Genji’s dragon had been more than willing to be summoned, though, and the implication was very clear. It didn’t trust Hanzo as it once did, and wouldn’t allow more harm to be bestowed upon his master. Or at least, that’s what Genji felt was most logical. They were strange creatures, the dragons that were their birthright.

And his echoed the same empty loneliness that plagued Genji’s long, resting hours. He shuffled closer, if only to trace over Hanzo’s arm, chasing the light. It was warm and familiar under his touch. Maybe he could assure the dragons that he did not blame them for their master’s choice.

“I miss them.”

They used to be the affectionate company Hanzo rarely had time for, especially for a younger Genji.

 

The light flared at Genji’s touch. Not a trick of the light then, but a real sign. They were watching, aware and alert. Hanzo sighed as the ink shifted actively, clearly leaning into Genji’s touch. In a way, he was silently envious of the way his dragons seemed to clearly prefer Genji over him. He deserved it, sure, but it still hurt.

“So do I,” he admitted quietly, eyeing the way light glimmered between the scales. The bunk wasn’t restrictively small, but it wasn’t large either. Hanzo and Genji’s legs had nowhere to go but against each other, and they leaned into each other, unconsciously missing the other, but too proud and bitter to admit it.

Hanzo’s arm lay over Genji’s flesh side, and their shoulders met, touched. Neither said anything about it, Hanzo least of all. He was studiously quiet, even if it felt like his heart was being squeezed.

 

“They will forgive you one day,” Genji muttered, still fascinated by the light. His own tattoo was gone, along with the entire arm that bore it, but his dragon remained. Perhaps it was less bound now to him, but Genji never worried that it would leave.

He felt pressed into a small space, hyper-aware of where his skin touched Hanzo’s. There were plenty of reasons to remain bitter, angry, and hate Hanzo for his choice of clan over brother. But he could always feel that way. This rare small moment of companionship, it was a fragile little opportunity. He had missed Hanzo, in his own way. Not that there was room besides the rage, but Genji knew when the loneliness had begun to form such a permanent layer over his heart.

“...As will I.”

It wasn’t much of a stretch for him to wrap arms around Hanzo, and he didn’t want to think too much about the reaction, but the part of him that clamoured and screamed for him to have his brother back was in control and did not stop for such trivialities. 

 

Hanzo froze, too shocked to react for a moment. His heart quivered, too weak to last, and - like a puppet with its strings cut - he collapsed against Genji. The calm, practiced air fled and Hanzo’s rigid control gave way to the perpetual turmoil within him.

He did not cry. He’d used up all his tears in the funeral. But a soft, ragged gasp escaped him, saying more than any tears ever could.

His arms went around Genji. On both arms, flesh and metal, while Hanzo held on with the desperate hope of a man glimpsing a candle in the darkness. Unseen to him, a dragon rose from his arm and slid against Genji, warm and alive and loving.

“Thank you,” Hanzo said into Genji’s neck. “ _ Thank you _ .”

 

Genji was too buried in the torrent of emotion swamping him through Hanzo to add that that day was not right now. He couldn’t hold onto that bitterness to that degree, it was simply beyond him. What vicious anger had poured out of him today was drowning in the need for Hanzo’s presence, his brother, back on his side as he always should have been. Genji was clinging, he knew he was, holding the both of them pressed together as he heard the phantom slide of scales, sensed the telltale warmth of a dragon’s ethereal body, sliding around the two of them. Or were there two? Three? He didn’t look up. Squeezing Hanzo closer, turning his face into dark hair. 

Lemon soap, cigarette smoke, sweat and blood all mixed together and he didn’t mind one bit.

“I guess I never truly lost you after all.”

 

-x-

 

_ Three years later… _

“We still haven’t been extracted.” Hanzo’s tone was clipped, irritated. He paced around the small room with the restless energy of a trapped predator.

They were on another mission again, as per usual. After spending their first year together ironing out most of their kinks, Hanzo and Genji had settled into a well-oiled, precise machine. They were both lethally gifted and perfectly willing to turn their abilities on anyone Blackwatch pointed them at. The Shimada were yet to be fully destroyed, but they were now isolated to Japan - all thanks to them.

Keen. Relentless. Seamless. Out on the field, their personal problems ceased to exist. Out there, they were merely two perfect knives poised to slit the underbelly of the underground.

“They were due two days ago. This is ridiculous.”

But once they were  _ out _ ...

Neither of them were in danger, but Hanzo demanded the excellence from all those around him. If he could deliver picture perfect kills and infiltration, so should  _ everyone _ else.

Of course, the world did not function like that. Hanzo turned to the only person who had yet to disappoint him.

“Have you tried calling? Try again.” New Delhi wasn’t the worst place to be holed up, but Hanzo never could get fully comfortable in a region dominated by Vishkar Corp. The sooner they were out, the better he would feel.

 

“Oh, do you think because I called for the fourteenth time, they’ll pick up?” Genji rolled his eyes in Hanzo’s general direction, making no move to leave where he’d folded himself into the mockery of meditating position. He was trying to conserve energy best he could, with his finite resources at hand. His cybernetics were not entirely developed enough to be without maintenance for an extended period of time, though he was also due for an upgrade very soon.

However...this situation was a little more demanding of his attention than low power levels on auxiliary batteries. Blackwatch command had not responded for an extreme amount of time, and neither had the extraction team. Hanzo and he had been waiting for pickup for so long, it just felt entirely out of the ordinary.

“Do you think Reyes is keeping score? Maybe I have to get to a magic number before he picks up.”

 

“Hundred sounds about good,” Hanzo snapped. He whirled around again, pacing through the same path he’d been worrying at for an hour now. There was a visible line through the dust from where he’d continuously disturbed it.

“Blackwatch is not like this. They are prompt with their answers.” Even when they had to go radio silent, they usually found  way to  _ tell _ their agents so no one thought the sky was falling. This sort of non-communication wasn’t how Reyes worked. Not when he had a team full of loose cannons working under him.

“Something’s wrong,” Hanzo murmured to himself. He eyed Genji, anxiety seeping in behind the irritation. Reyes  _ knew _ Genji depended on the maintenance to keep alive. Why was he not replying? Genji’s time was ticking down - and Hanzo’s patience with it. While he was nowhere near attempting a break-in and burglary to find the right equipment for Genji, he was getting  _ closer _ .

“Talon, perhaps? Someone else? They may be compromised.” Who. How. Why. The longer Hanzo went without answers, the more aggravated he becoming.

“Turn the TV on. Maybe there’s news.”

 

“News about Blackwatch? Hanzo, are you hearing yourself?” low power didn’t keep Genji from easing his brother’s worry with mockery, but the near-smile on his lips died away when he did turn on the TV. He had no idea what was being said, considering the language barrier, but the words ‘Overwatch’ flashed over the screen, along with some rather graphic footage of a very burned out building in very familiar surroundings. Genji remembered those mountains from the first months he spent after his supposed death, in recovery.

Switzerland. The base, the headquarters...

The remote squeaked a protest as it was crushed in his hand, but Genji paid no mind to it. The destruction on screen was much too distracting for that.

“That is the base in Switzerland... _ was  _ the base...What...what happened?!”

If Overwatch had suffered a heavy blow, an attack even, Blackwatch was bound to be on mission and the reddest alert there ever could be. Or had they been attacked too? Reyes wasn’t the kind of commander to leave his men out in the field, was he? 

Genji wished he knew the man better, because he had the rising suspicion that Blackwatch wasn’t coming to pick them up for the action.

 

“Move aside.” Hanzo nudged Genji out of the way so he could view the TV too. The sight made him frown, brows furrowed. Hanzo had never been fond of the two sister organizations in the same way Genji was, but he was bothered. Who would dare go against Overwatch so blatantly? What would be the consequences?

“Switch to BBC. Neither of us know Hindu.”

This was bad. Astronomically bad. The radio silence either meant Blackwatch was on the move - or it was dead on the water. Admittedly, Hanzo would’ve preferred the former.

“We can’t stay here. You still need maintenance and then we… we need to know more. Talk to Reyes or Morrison - if they’re alive, anyway.”

 

“We need to find out what happened. Who attacked.” Genji agreed that staying put was no longer an option. Blackwatch was a duty he had to the people that saved his life and he took it seriously, nevermind the fact that he needed skilled medical experts to deal with his condition. There was no breaking away from the ties made.

However, if he was a burned out husk by the time they even located the nearest, functional Overwatch outpost, nobody would be helped.

“...But I need maintenance first. I’m useless without it.”

 

“Good thing we’re in  _ India _ , then,” Hanzo remarked dryly. You couldn’t walk two feet here without tripping over an omnic. They would find something… somewhere, even if they had to break in to do it. He tried to think of any Overwatch bases in India, but the closest one was in the far south - too far to be of any help. They could get there with air, but two days said something about their situation.

_ Make it work. _ Of any quotes attributed to Blackwatch, it was perhaps this one that was the most fitting. You dealt with it, or you croaked. Simple.

“There is an omnic care facility not too far from here,” Hanzo started slowly, clearly thinking, “we can get in and get you maintained there. Then we investigate, and find some footing before committing to any plan. How much power do you have?”

 

“Fifteen percent.” Genji admitted, though it was definitely his own fault for having left on a mission without full charge. Of course, he couldn’t have known something like this would happen, but he should have been prepared for such an eventuality. Old Hanzo would have scolded him up and down for such a lack of foresight.

 

“Workable.” Not the best margins, but they’d worked under tighter conditions. Hanzo pulled up his mental map of the city and began to plot a course for them. The omnic facility was under guard and lock down, but they could get past that. Then, they would need to bypass the internal security. Also workable. The most difficult part of the process was finding a way to keep Genji under wraps long enough for him to fully charge. Hanzo considered simply  _ stealing _ what they needed, but the equipment would probably be too large to easily take out.

“It’s seven o’clock now,” he said, looking to the clock, “We’ll wait until night completely falls, then enter the facility around nine. We’ll find a secluded place to put you in, and run maintenance. How long will that take?”

His full time was fourteen on the dot. Did it change when he was using something intended for  _ actual _ omnics?

 

“I don’t know, I’ve never needed to recharge at a purely omnic facility.” Genji sincerely hoped the time would be cut down, even if it wasn’t as safe as using the medical stations designed to provide for him.

“At least eight hours. Maybe ten. But I think I can make do with eight for seven days.”

He looked down at the dim lights of his cybernetic body. Without it, he’d be dead. His torso wasn’t capable of sustaining him for more than three minutes.

 

“We’ll do ten.” Better to be safe than sorry. Hanzo took  _ no _ chances with his brother’s life when it came to this. He worried more than Genji, if that was possible. Anything less than an absolute guarantee was unacceptable to him. Hanzo revised his opinion of stealing equipment from the omnic facility. If they had to - and he was beginning to think they would - they could make do with a portable rig at least.

Hanzo leaned against Genji. The passing years made them closer than ever, and Hanzo saw no reason to wince away from touching his brother as he pleased. The comforting hum of the machines that kept him alive filled his ear. As long as Hanzo could hear that sound, he could be guaranteed his brother’s survival.

“You should’ve recharged before we left,” Hanzo chided gently. “You know I don’t like it when you don’t take care of yourself.”

They still had two hours to wait. Plenty of time for Hanzo to fret over Genji.

 

“I thought we’d be in and out within two days. And technically, we were.” Nothing could stand in their way with their goal united, and Genji wasn’t blind to the irony that they were still killing and hunting as they would have done for the clan. Except this was for the greater good of the world, not the clan, and that somehow made all the difference. He didn’t have the energy to think higher thoughts than that it was, in fact, some kind of ironic. Anything more required picking apart how he felt towards killing itself and the violence of his job, and he wasn’t quite there yet to think critically of what he’d been told to do.

“You don’t have to worry. Much. I’m an adult you know.” Said adult didn’t remotely move away from his concerned brother though, much the opposite, he craved the touch, the close presence.

 

“You’re my brother,” Hanzo said, exasperated, in a way that seemed to imply that answered every other question after that. In a way, it did. He inspected Genji in the same piercing way he did his bow and arrow, as if to divine every flaw and injury that might be hidden from him. Nothing came up - Genji and he had come to an agreement on the matter after three impressive fights about hiding such things.

Hanzo huffed, pleased.

“I know it’s not your fault Overwatch decided to blow up. But these things are a part of our world. Don’t do it again. I can’t lose you.”

The clock’s hands spun slowly as Hanzo watched it, eyes half-closed. He and Genji were lax against each other. Hanzo’s head rested on his shoulder, and Genji’s face was turned into his dark hair. Both of them were quiet - thoughtful.

 

Overwatch wasn't gone, and neither was Blackwatch. Genji refused to believe that a tough bastard like Reyes would just die. But then why had no one come to pick them up. Was the entire command gone?

Was his mission over? Was his backbone gone? Who was he to repay his debt to? No one? Angela Ziegler? Did she survive? A part of his heart clenched tight. The woman had saved his life. He sincerely hoped he could thank her for this second chance.

“Hanzo?” He asked softly, despite knowing his brother could definitely hear him.

“What would we do...if we never returned to Overwatch?”

 

“We move on. We survive.” Hanzo had none of Genji’s ties to the organization. As long as he had Genji with him, he could make it.

He took Genji’s hand to offer him some modicum of comfort.

“There will always be jobs. You can still be maintained. And we don’t know if Overwatch fell or not. It’s only Switzerland and we don’t know enough.”

There were informants in New Delhi. They could talk to them, find out what was happening. They could leave the country and get back to Gibraltar if need be.

 

Genji wasn’t looking for comfort, per say, but direction. And Hanzo, despite having left behind everything he strove for all of his life, was still the source of assurance he needed. Pathetic or sweet, Genji wouldn’t pass judgement on his poor life choices.

Life without Blackwatch seemed an interesting prospect. He had no purpose without his mission, but he wouldn’t be lost, attached to Hanzo like this.

“I would travel with you. Somewhere remote. Somewhere quiet.”

 

“People like us can always find something like that.”

Their conversation was slow, aimless. Hanzo’s internal battle between his clan and Genji eased after enough time, and he no longer thought about trying to lure his brother back into the fold. It was too late now - for both of them. Hanzo might as well just carve his own path now, and see what fortunes awaited him on the other end.

The ticking of the clock seemed impossibly loud in the quiet hotel room. Hanzo rubbed slow, thoughtless circles around Genji’s palm, eyes distant. Quicksilver thoughts flashed through his mind as he weighed their future. Overwatch. Blackwatch. Switzerland. Too many questions to answer in one go.

A part of him hoped that they’d fallen. Hanzo had never liked the organization, even if he’d grudgingly accepted their yoke.

-x-

Night came soon. They left their hotel room and went to the facility, sliding over the rooftops with their customary silence. Breaking in was simple - the tools they had were simple, but highly effective. Hanzo bypassed the security measures within and they stole down the sterile hallway of the omnic facility, moving towards the bay that handled maintenance. It was stark and bare - nowhere near suitable for a human’s use. But it was good enough.

“Come on,” Hanzo whispered, “do you need help?”

 

Yes, he would, because this station didn't come with a convenient claw. Omnics didn't have to be split from their body parts for maintenance, another plus point to abandoning his fleshy remains. But not a point Genji could strive for today.

“Can you lift my torso?” He asked quietly as he manually unlatched what kept his two halves together. It wouldn't be a pleasant task, but Hanzo had done worse to care for Genji’s wellbeing.

 

“Give me your arm.” Hanzo moved to Genji’s left side and helped him get out of the cybernetic body. Holding onto the mangled stump that one was his right arm, Hanzo hefted him out with a grunt. Genji’s arm was around his neck, holding tightly, and he was carefully maneuvered to the maintenance station. The cybernetics would need to be cared for as well.

He moved slowly, making sure that Genji’s torso didn’t brush against anything. “Alright. What now?”

 

“Hand me that cable.” It was tough to make this work with one arm, and the rest of him would need to be plugged in too, but the essential machinery on his torso took priority. As soon as Hanzo did as asked, Genji found the cap and popped it, just below his ribcage. A little liquid, gunky and yellow, splashed on the floor as he plugged in the thick cable and he gasped. There was a good reason he was usually in a tank full of liquid when this procedure took place. It was painful. Genji’s hand grasped a nearby pipe as he grit his teeth together. Making noise would get them discovered and he needed this.

“My...get my legs over to that station. I think it’s the right one.”

Tears were running down his face as he felt the inside of his torso burn up with the sudden influx of maintenance fluids.

 

Hanzo moved quickly, just so he didn’t have to look at Genji in obvious suffering. AFter making sure he was secured, he went to take care of the legs. The charging station was fairly close, so he didn’t have to drag it very far, but he still strained to get it going. Without anyone controlling it, it was all just dead weight -  _ heavy _ dead weight. The low sound of metal scraping on the floor could be heard as Hanzo pushed and pulled the entire thing over and finally - _ finally  _ \- got it into the station. After insisting that he learn the entire process - another small argument between them - Hanzo had studied the maintenance process over and over until he had it memorized. This tube went there, that wire connected here. At least omnics were fairly standardized, which mean Hanzo didn’t have to struggle to figure out which parts did what.

The cybernetic lights glowed brighter once he was done. Good.

“Done,” he murmured as he ghosted back to Genji’s side. There was enough space for him to sit next to his brother, and Hanzo perched there, attentively watching him to make sure nothing went wrong.

“Anything else?” he asked.

 

As Hanzo proceeded with all the heavy lifting, Genji had to work hard at keeping himself from passing out. He hated every moment of this, however necessary to his survival. It reminded him of how little of his body remained, to be a torso bound to tubes and wires and cables, supported by nothing but technology. Was he even still human? The agony he was in seemed the only indicator.

He could not afford to pass out. He was the one who needed to monitor the charge levels, since this machine wasn’t programmed to his specifics.

“Can you...Can you hold...me?” he whispered, strained by pain, voice thin with the exertion. Eight hours, ten even, of this, may be beyond his capabilities. Hanzo could do nothing to lessen the agony, but maybe he could distract him through it.

 

“Of course.” Hanzo moved them so that Genji lay over his lap, head rested against Hano’s shoulder. Kept balanced by his raised knee and a hand, he was in no danger of falling or getting tangled in the tubes connected to him. Hanzo remained a vigilant watcher, looking up to check their surroundings every few minutes.

At any other time, Hanzo might have had a pointed comment on this being why Genji should’ve charged before they left. Now, however, he offered no criticism or cutting remark, and merely held onto Genji.

It wasn’t only his sense of timing that kept him wordless. In a way, Hanzo derived a perverse sense of pleasure from it.

It wasn’t about the pain. Hanzo was no sadist.

Rather, it was about the closeness this situation created. Artificial or not, forced or not, Genji trusted him. He was here, willing to put himself into a vulnerable position, because he thought Hanzo was trustworthy again… it created a strange mix of affection and familiarity in Hanzo, something that made him hold onto Genji a little closer.

Wisely, he mentioned none of it. There was something… _ inappropriate _ about verbalizing it, and the pieces of guilt that Hanzo had still not let go of threatened to come up again. It settled in besides the warmth in him, sickly and malcontent, whispering uncomfortable truths he was yet to confront.

 

It was far from what clamoured around in Genji’s mind. The thick fog of pain was making his thoughts sluggish, and aside from the overwhelming notion of how unfair it was he had to feel this way, he could get that faint feeling of trust, once more, placed in Hanzo. He was beyond vulnerable, he was helpless. If his brother did not care for him, he would easily die like this. Hanzo had no obligation but his own emotion to be here, to hold him, and some twisted part of Genji was greedily grateful for the guilt that propelled Hanzo into this situation. Their lives had never ceased to be intertwined, and now, they were as entangled as before his death. Closer still, considering how far apart they had drifted when they were still with the clan.

Genji pressed his face into Hanzo’s skin. Warm, alive. Right there, only for him. Greed surged higher in his sluggish thoughts. His brother, his alone. Not even the Shimada could take Hanzo away from him now. 

“I thought I lost everything,” he whispered, if only because he had never spoken it aloud before, “that I would always be alone.”

 

Guilt twisted tighter in Hanzo. “No,” he said, a little more forceful than he intended to, “not as long as I live.”

As long as he was here, he would be at his side. They belonged nowhere else.

Calloused fingers carefully wiped away the tears on Genji’s face. Though Hanzo was watching the room again, all his attention was devoted to his brother. “I’m here,” he continued, softer, “we just can’t get rid of each other.”

Once upon a time, that had made him happy. Then it had angered him. Now, it brought a tide of emotions that he had no name or label for, and they collected inside him like poison. Though they had reconciled… somewhat… Hanzo had still yet to ever tell his brother he loved him.

In truth, he avoided it. Something about it seemed… wrong, somehow. It went against the soft and tightly knit innocence of their childhood - memories that Hanzo was unwilling to corrupt with the complicated tangle of jealousy, guilt, and need that balled up under his heart. Distancing himself was for the best.

 

Genji couldn’t move much, but he could concentrate on everything Hanzo right now, and it proved an effective distraction. His feelings for his brother had always been complicated, a complex mess he didn’t dare untangle. Instead, in his youth, he had sought other outlets that demanded little in terms of thought. Women, men, potent drugs, parties, excess in everything had been his poison of choice. And still none of it had burned away the bottom line that he was jealous of his brother and his dedication to everything Shimada. Ruling at his side would never have made them equals. 

How could he know they’d end up like this?

“I don’t want to be without you ever again. It was hell. Even if...I thought I hated what you became, but it was grief. Grief I lost you.” Not hatred for what Hanzo had done. 

Genji still loved his brother, and he didn’t know how deeply that well ran.

 

Ultimately, it had been pride to tear them apart. Pride and stubbornness, from two men too strong-spined and thick-skulled to waver for each other. It’d gone on until they tore each other and there was a peculiar irony in that they could only manage to stand together after tearing out of the world that had forced them apart.

And now  _ that _ world was also gone, leaving them stranded.

“We’re together now,” Hanzo said, tone final. He patted Genji’s head, a little bemused - still - that he had hair even while most of his body was gone. “As soon as you’re done, we’re getting out of here.”

 

Genji answered with a muted nod, craving more of Hanzo’s touch. It didn’t take the pain, but it smoothed a thin glaze of comfort atop of it. And Genji would take all he needed from his brother, because he was in pain and greedy.

Did Hanzo understand any of the implications he’d made? They were together now, yes, for the rest of their lives, Genji would be dependent. If not on Hanzo, then on someone he could trust as much. And what human would seek his company now but his guilt-ridden brother?

“Somewhere I can get this body...upgraded. I don’t want to be bound to a regen chamber for the rest of my life. I may not be a man anymore, but I’m not...not human.”

 

Now who was the one prone to self-deprecation?

It was funny, in a sad sort of way, that they really were just mirrors of each other.

“We can do that,” Hanzo agreed, “but… Genji, just know that if it’s not possible, for some reason, I don’t mind helping you each time. When I said I would stay, I meant it. You  _ are _ human - but more importantly, you are my brother. Even if your entire body was cybernetic, I would stay.”

Every person asked themselves where they belonged. Many did not find their answers; it took blood, loss, and self-hatred for Hanzo to find his.

Genji. It’d always come down to him.

“Nothing else matters.”  _ Nothing else is needed. _

 

_ I would stay. _

Hanzo had changed. So much since when Genji knew him last, it was a different man, the one that looked, sounded and felt like his brother. This Hanzo, Genji couldn’t despise. There was nothing about him that inspired anger anymore, and forgiveness had seeped into the younger Shimada brother with time, unnoticed, but appreciated now it was realized.

Genji did want to forgive Hanzo. And he wanted not to repeat his own mistakes. Or waste his chances.

With Hanzo holding him up, Genji could use his arm to right himself a little, meeting his brother’s eyes. The pain was still there, an ever-present reminder of his state, but in light of his emotions, it fell by the wayside.

He leaned in until he could feel Hanzo’s brow against his own. Warm, familiar, comforting. It took his death for them to be this close. What else was there to stop him now?

“I am selfish, Hanzo. I want you...to stay.”

Even if he was rejected, he knew Hanzo would not leave, and ultimately, it gave Genji the courage for the soft kiss he pressed to his brother’s lips.

 


	5. Chapter 5

_ This is wrong _ .

Hanzo was no fool - he knew it. But when had he let morals stop him?

Surprise filtered through him first but not for long. How long had it been since anyone had the courage to kiss him? Hanzo had always rejected it - a few propositions came up here and then, but they’d always been discouraged by his lack of response - or his fist.

But now…

It was like when a balloon exploded after being filled with too much air. Or a piece of wood breaking under too much pressure. Something inside Hanzo…  _ snapped _ .

Wrong… right… what did it matter? They were both broken contract killers, born into crime.

He was out of practice - if he’d ever actually been in practice, anyway. His response was slow, hesitant - like he was in a trance, moving by instinct rather than thought.

 

Hanzo had yet to reject him. Genji didn’t push for much more. This was a whim, born of years of denial, emerging at just the wrong moment in time. And yet he did not feel guilty for it, his brother’s lips just the right taste and pressure against his own.

The hesitation was endearing. Hanzo, for all his pride and jagged edges, was not a man comfortable with tenderness. Or Genji had never managed to see that side of him. Regardless, he persevered, a little longer, lips slowly adjusting to the feeling before he drew back.

Genji sighed with content, lowering his gaze to allow Hanzo the privacy of a reaction.

 

Hanzo closed his eyes with a sigh. Surprisingly, he did not feel as bad as he was dreading. More surprisingly, it was a pleasant experience. What that meant, he did not think about.

_ What is wrong with you _ , the angry voice of his guilt sneered. Hanzo, for once, managed to ignore it.

This needed thinking on. Good thing Hanzo had hours of nothing in his hands, spent merely watching over his brother.

“Why?” he finally asked, after a period of silence. There was no accusation in his voice. Just curiosity.

 

“It is something I have wanted to do for a long time, but never understood.”

Genji thought it was an adequate reason, if not excuse. Hanzo and he were as tightly intertwined as any two people could be. Their lives had crossed many a boundary. What was one more?

“You have always meant the world to me. I finally know that...it is what I never figured out on my own. This is why. You were...are more than my brother.”

 

Hanzo was not a man taken to emotional confessions. What Genji said he took in with a low hum, accepting but not commenting. Hanzo had never felt the same way - until now - and he wondered how long it would’ve gone on if all…  _ this _ had not happened.

How long would have Genji hidden this from him?

“From when?” He finally asked. His curiosity, at least, needed satisfying.

 

“Does it matter?” Genji couldn’t actually remember when his innocent adoration for his brother turned darker, deeper and stronger. Could he blame this emotion for his rebellious youth? Not entirely. He still, heartily, disagreed with the goals and creed of his old family. Some of that stubbornness could be attributed to his morality, not just his ambiguous emotion towards Hanzo.

“When you left to...train,” they both knew that Hanzo had learned more than mere ancient fighting techniques. He had left to gather real experience among the different branches of the Shimada...and he had left behind a confounded, brooding Genji.

He’d been a stern young man then, with a determination as grim and dark as his hair. The Hanzo back then would never have allowed Genji such foolishness as a kiss. Genji reached up to touch what was now diluted with silver, small tufts of salt among pepper.

“It was so long ago...you are an old man now.”

 

“You are only three years younger than me,” Hanzo pointed out dryly. He was aware of the grey streaks in his hair - they’d shown up after father died, and had only grown worse when Genji followed. While his brother, under all the burns and scars, remained youthful, Hanzo looked a decade older.

He would not dye it. Hanzo’s vanity didn’t stretch that far.

“You were only fifteen then,” Hanzo mused. He had left when he was eighteen. And then disappeared for three years, gathering experience before being formally inducted into the ‘adult’ ranks. “We didn’t even see each other for three years.”

Hanzo, eager to grow up, had gone as far as to refuse contact with Genji during his three years away. To his foolish, bull-headed mind then, continuing to talk to his brother was a sign of weakness and an admittance to homesickness.

 

“Perhaps that was the catalyst.” Not seeing Hanzo had made everything worse. Genji grew to despise the family that parted them and made Hanzo cold, distant. He’d left, a stern young man. He returned, a stony-faced killer who did not question or think to challenge the ways of the elders.

“I only tell you now, because we have nothing left but each other. And because you are stubborn as an ass when it comes to my secrets.”

 

“You know all mine. It’s only fair.” Hanzo was still poor at fully expressing his thoughts to his brother but the small, fond tone in his voice was impossible to miss.

There was still more to discuss, but Hanzo didn’t feel like talking about it. The comfortable moment would be ruined if he insisted on dissecting every moment of their childhood. For once, Hanzo would not ruthlessly persist in understanding  _ everything _ before he was satisfied.

He kissed the top of Genji’s head, then settled back. “I’m going to nap,” he murmured. “Wake me in about twenty minutes.”

 

Twenty minutes turned into six hours. Genji didn’t want to disturb his brother, and the pain was occupying him plenty. Being alert came second, when it became apparent that no one would care of their break-in. 

Eventually, even the younger Shimada found some rest, be it uneasy and nestled against his brother’s shoulder.

A loud beeping and the sudden absence of pain was his alarm and he woke with a pleased start. Hanzo was still sleeping, so Genji nudged him. When that didn’t work, he bit his nose, which should be more effective than a slap.

“Hanzo!”

 

He hissed as he woke, eyes snapping open while his entire body tensed. “What?” he snapped before remembering himself.

Genji. The omnic facility. Right.

Blinking rapidly, he peered down at Genji, then at the legs that were nestled in the charging station. “Is it done?” he asked.

No people running in. Nothing that sounded like an alarm. They were safe. Hanzo relaxed slowly.

“You  _ suck _ at wake ups.”

 

“I think I’m done. It doesn’t hurt anymore.” Genji sounded utterly relieved, and patted at his brother to return him to his legs as he eagerly fiddled with the cables. This time the liquid was green where it splashed out. That was a good sign, right? Genji had no idea. For all he knew, he was worse off. But he felt better, and he had a dire need to be whole again.

“Let’s go already. You’ve been asleep for...” he checked his internal readings, “six hours.”

 

“I told you twenty minutes,” Hanzo chided, but with no bite. They had better things to be doing than talking.

Hanzo moved quickly. He dragged Genji’s torso over to where his legs awaited him, and helped him latch himself back into his body. Once he was secure, Hanzo got ready to get them out. It was still early, so he didn’t think anyone would be wandering around. Three in the morning was still dark, at least.

“Come on,” he urged, and they both slipped into the night, as quiet and quick as liquid.

-x-

Getting out of the city was their next step. Then finding a way up to Europe. Two plane tickets were procured - mysteriously not requiring visa or documents - and the two of them spent an anxious twenty hours onboard. Genji was masked again, to look more like an omnic, and Hanzo added a few extraneous parts to him just to disguise the rather striking characteristics of his body. The lights were turned off. Extra metal panels concealed the muscle-like parts of his body. A few decorations to catch the eye and deflect from everything else. Not too shabby, all in all.

They landed in Germany. Berlin’s Overwatch HQ was where they immediately walked into, seeking answers and finding more questions instead.

There was mourning in the air. Hanzo’s suspicions deepened.

 

Genji didn’t much like the atmosphere that received them in Berlin. Despite the relief that Overwatch still existed in some form, he felt as if the organization had lost its lifeblood. And the fact that nothing was said of Blackwatch didn’t bode well. They were received, given access to medical and general areas, and briefed quickly on the situation. That Overwatch was about to be dismantled.

Genji could only listen through a numb stupor. This was supposed to be his future, the thing that gave him direction, that would help him to vengeance and making the right choices in life.

But...Now? 

He stuck with Hanzo. Closely. The two were never in separate rooms. Only after their briefing, in a spartan little room that would be Hanzo’s temporary quarters, did he finally trust they were alone and spoke.

“Overwatch is finished. What...what am I to do...now?”

 

Hanzo watched Genji cautiously. His brother had always been more taken with the ideals of the organization than he was, and Hanzo wasn’t sure how he was going to react to the knowledge that his…  _ home _ , of sorts, was being ripped apart by the UN.  Privately, Hanzo felt like he was seeing something that was bound to happen come to pass. Overwatch and Blackwatch had always been loose on the definition of boundaries. Sooner or later, they were bound to step on some toes.

“We can’t stay here,” he said with calm, absolute certainty. “No. Staying in Overwatch’s purview is unacceptable. The UN promised to drag them over hot coals for the disaster in Switzerland and everything else besides. Morrison is dead.  The first people Overwatch will turn on will be us - Blackwatch members, the people who got their hands dirty  _ for _ Overwatch. You and I have to get out while we still can, before they have the bright idea of dragging us up for trial. Two yakuza brothers? It’s obvious.”

Hanzo had seen more than his fair share of downfalls. Corporates, gangs… they were both the same. Once the ship started sinking, all the rats turned on each other.

 

Genji remained quiet. He had killed, for Blackwatch, he had killed a lot. He was more machine than man. He signed papers, figuratively, allowing the experimentation of the devices that kept him alive. He was...property. That’s why he had a killswitch. He was a weapon, and his power did not come without price.

He sucked in a deep breath.

“I don’t think they’ll let me go. I am their...Blackwatch’s weapon. Not an...agent.”

 

“Then they’ll just have to release you.” A peculiar glint came into Hanzo’s eye - the same fire that always blazed in him when he was reminded of Genji’s status. He would not let Blackwatch take his brother down with them.

“The killswitch you have,” he said, “can be removed. Doctor Angela Ziegler was the one who originally designed you this body. She survived the Switzerland bomb. We will go to her, and have her make you an upgraded form. No killswitch. No maintenance.”

Hanzo would force her too, if he had to. He didn’t care what needed to be done.

 

“She might.” Genji didn’t know Angela intimately well, and she was a pragmatic woman, but he was quite sure she knew what kind of hardship Genji was forced to endure with the maintenance plan this prototype body needed.

“Yes..that’s...that will work.”

No matter what. Genji would not be bound by Blackwatch or the Shimada clan. He was a free man, more or less, and finally his brother was flying at his side.

“She spoke of it, once...that an upgrade was planned for me. Something faster, better and stronger.”

Genji sat down, finally, closer to Hanzo than was necessary.

 

Hanzo had used his time with Blackwatch wisely. The first thing he did was study the organization. Its structure. What weaknesses he could exploit. He was one of the very few who knew that Doctor Ziegler was not nearly as clean as she pretended to be. Whispered stories about human experimentation and unethical medical practices characterized her dealings with Blackwatch - though her surface image was squeaky clean and sterile as her lab.

Hanzo could talk to her. If she was good, she would work on Genji without any persuasion. If not… well. The good doctor had plenty of skeletons in her closet, and he was not above breaking a few bones to get what he needed.

“She is a smart woman. She will know that Overwatch can’t last. And if she knows what’s good for her, she will finish you.”

Hanzo glanced at Genji. His body. It bristled with power and danger, but it was oddly breakable as well. Genji could be brought down by things Hanzo didn’t even think of and his greatest weakness - his need to maintain himself - was a fatal flaw. If Genji ran out of charge, or was captured, or just didn’t make it in time… he would die. Permanently.

“There’s no time to wait. Not anymore.”

Upgrades… the first thing that would have to be eliminated was the maintenance period. What after? Better armor? Lighter polymer?

“What upgrades will you need? Want?”

 

“Something less exposed. I have too many weaknesses that would make for an easy target,” self-consciously, Genji's hand went to his chest, crisscrossed with vulnerable cables. Yanking out just a few would leave him paralyzed and easy prey.

“Perhaps a permanent cradle for my torso. I want to have a body again, not a prosthetic.”

It was an impossible demand, even for Angela Ziegler, but Genji always wanted what he could not have.

“Something whole. Omnic or not. You said you would stay with me.”

But Hanzo’s dislike for omnics was well known to his brother, and any hopes he had for a closer relationship was precariously questionable. 

“Even if you find my artificial limbs less than appealing. I've seen you look away.”

 

“It’s not about the body. It’s knowing that I did it to you.”

Hanzo was beginning to catch himself when he flinched away from the sight, but it was clear that he had not completely succeeded. But he also did not want Genji to think that Hanzo was disgusted by him. It was the opposite. He was disgusted by  _ himself _ .

“It...bothered me, I admit,” Hanzo said, shrugging a shoulder, “but it’s not because I hate artificiality. You aren’t an omnic, no matter how much you convincingly play one. Otherwise, I would hate these too.”

Hanzo rocked his feet, clicking his heel against the floor. “This does not make me any closer to an omnic - nor does your body make you. Unless you  _ are _ one, and this is your way of trying to tell me gently.”

Hanzo gave him a wry half-smile. His sense of humor, when it did show, was gently but surely swerving into a cynical mixture of self-loathing, Genji-teasing sarcasm - biting, but always well-meant.

 

A lick of humor was rare in Hanzo these days and Genji could appreciate the shred of it for its lonely existence. It also soothed him to know Hanzo still drew the distinction that he himself did not. He lived like an omnic, recharged like a faulty one, and no longer participated in human activity like eating and physical intimacy.

Was that something he could fix, with an upgraded body? He doubted it, although there was such a thing as humans that preferred omnics, sexually, and he’d have to be blind and ignorant to not notice some existed for that specific purpose.

“I am all that remains of Genji. As long as I live and breathe. And if I was an omnic, that’s what I would tell you too.”

The wry smile was returned.

 

“Genji, unless your body is literally that of an omnic’s and your memories were somehow uploaded into it, you are not one.” An old argument, retread, though the fire of it had petered out long ago. Neither of them could fully convince the other, and they just had to settle for reciting their stances until they both tired of it.

Blue light sparked along his arm, barely touching Genji before it returned. Hanzo hardly looked down - he’d gotten used to it. “Your dragon as well,” he noted, “an omnic cannot wield them as we do.”

Old argument. Tiresome argument. Hanzo never liked letting Genji go down this road. It was its own special brand of depressing.

“Cheer up,” he put his arm around Genji, and squeezed him close, “perhaps you can be upgraded to live a little more human-like. Would that make you happy?”

 

“Maybe.”

_ Happy. _

Now wasn’t that just a pipe dream to choke on? Genji didn’t know what happiness he could derive from his current life, other than Hanzo’s close presence. Everything else was falling apart around him, again. Overwatch, Blackwatch, Reyes...everything was gone once more and so was his redemption. Or maybe...he’d go rogue. Still take out the Shimada, then go somewhere remote with Hanzo...

With Hanzo was the key to happy, he knew that much. But so was getting an independent body and his vengeance. Could he possibly have all three?

“I just want to touch and feel again. I haven’t...” slept with anyone since dying? Well, no, that sentence wasn’t going to come out of his mouth. But he did feel a determined little thought crawl up into his mind that wouldn’t be shaken.

Genji looked at Hanzo, determination slipping into his gaze.

“Can I touch you, Hanzo?”

 

Hanzo gave him a  _ look _ . Brow quirked, he said, “We are touching, Genji.”

Body contact. Proximity. What else was there to touching?

Briefly, Hanzo recalled the kiss. They didn’t talk about it - what it meant, what it was supposed to lead to - none of that. Hanzo was happy to keep the status quo as it was and stay quiet on the matter, but maybe Genji wasn’t happy to follow his lead on this matter.

But, well… Genji had been vocal about his lack of anything below his chest. Hanzo had never directly asked him, but he’d assumed  _ everything _ was gone. Genji’s broody complaints about his humanity and manhood had only been further proof to his theory. Hanzo himself never put much thought on the matter - their arguments about humanity aside, Genji and sex no longer seemed as synonymous as they used to be. And since Hanzo was never going to bring up the topic of his own volition - he certainly hadn’t slept with anyone since their father died, and he didn’t care enough to rectify it - the matter had gone untouched.

So Genji’s blunt question got a deflect from Hanzo. It was up to Genji to decide he was okay with that, or press on.

 

Genji was not. He would press on, or down, on the matter at hand. His own were still on Hanzo, not yet daring to go exploring. He was not that sure of his brother’s continued good graces with the dicey confession he’d made. But Hanzo wouldn’t reject him. Out of love, or guilt, it boiled down to the same. How greedy did Genji want to be?

Very, as it turned out.

“You know that’s not what I meant.”

It was time to test Hanzo’s agreement, before he embarked on some kind of rogue life with his brother and killer. Genji’s hands found a firmer grip on Hanzo’s lower back, and suddenly he was close, close enough to lean to Hanzo’s ear.

“How long has it been for you?”

 

He sucked in a sharp breath when Genji suddenly moved, surprising him. The provocative position he chose was all old Genji - shocking and daring at every minute, as if challenging the world to call him a coward. Hanzo was stuck between nostalgia and bemusement. His memories had the oddest way of catching him up.

But, the old days wouldn’t have this scene. Not in this way, anyway.

Genji was conscious enough to rest most of his weight on his knees, sparing Hanzo from enduring the weight of his cybernetic lower half. But none of that thoughtfulness could really spare the way he managed to hem Hanzo in. A question rose to the surface, almost managing to tumble out before Hanzo caught it.

_ You do this often? _

He caught it, and crushed it. Then he threw it away for good measure.

“Is that relevant?” he finally said after a few conflicted seconds where more inappropriate thoughts floated to the surface and he had to wrestle with his bad habit of imposing who his little brother  _ was _ on the man he  _ is _ . “Longer than you, probably.”

Genji had died  _ after _ father, after all. For some reason, the morbidity amused him more than it horrified him.

 

“Don’t you miss it?” Genji implored, staring at Hanzo with the ghost of something...else rising in him. A kind of hunger he didn’t know had been there, among the anger, among the isolation. Maybe it had been fuel for the latter. It was viciously hungry, this other thing. This desperate feeling grew stronger fast, especially once Genji realised his position, boxing Hanzo’s body under him, temptingly close; yet untouched.

He’d fix that. He’d indulge in this, for as long as he could. His brother was bulky beneath him, always the broader of the two. Genji had been envious of that, long ago. And then, envy turned to another gaze entirely.

It was a good view, from where he’d crawled over his brother.

“I do. I miss it so much. The warmth of touch,” his fingers traced over Hanzo’s chest, wishing his brother still wore the yukata that left so much of his chest uncovered. Instead, he traced the suit to the waist. How long since he had felt remotely capable of seducing anyone? He couldn't remember.

 

“No,” Hanzo answered honestly. Between them, Genji had always been the bigger extrovert - where Hanzo winced away from socializing, he flourished. Dating had been… secondary, all his life. A few tries here and there had firmly turned him off the whole messy, complicated affair.

“You were always better with people than me. You know why.”

Hanzo didn’t move to shove Genji away. He knew that if he wanted, Genji would stop. Would never mention this again, even.

Hanzo didn’t tell him to stop.

 

Everything about this was a good sign for Genji. Hanzo didn't seem remotely uncomfortable with any of this now which was essentially his permission to continue. His face followed the slow downward trail his fingers had mapped out across Hanzo’s body.

“But was I always better with you than anyone else?” He questioned quietly as his fingers were already at the hemline of Hanzo’s trousers, sliding between fabric and skin into heavily forbidden territory.

 

It was good that Hanzo had checked his room for bugs already. He would have to kill some people if they saw this.

“You could say that,” he conceded, voice only slightly tight. He stared up at the ceiling, not daring to look down at his brother and see what he was doing. Seeing it would confirm it and - and Hanzo might just lose his nerve.

Strange how  _ Genji _ of all people could make him sweat the most.

His eyes fluttered shut when he felt cool metallic fingers slip under his belt. “Is it that important?”

Once upon a time, Hanzo had been envious of Genji’s skill with people. After a while, though, that jealousy transferred to Genji - that he seemed to prefer other people over his family, over  _ him _ .

 

“No. It isn't.” Genji reassured. The calm tone of their conversation was entirely eclipsed by Genji's goals of freeing Hanzo's flesh from its prison, which was far too easily done. Slowly, a crimson gaze ticked over Hanzo's exposed dick. This was really happening, and Genji wasn't being stopped. Not by Hanzo, not by morals, not by their blood. Much the opposite. What remained of his body whispered traitorous urges to possess.

“You were always best to me.”

The anecdote of their relationship aside, Genji gave it not another thought as he grasped at Hanzo and let him slide over his mouth, the tip receiving a faint kiss.

 

Well. There went plausible deniability, sailing over the cliff of no return, to sink into the water of poor decisions. Hanzo bit the inside of his cheek to avoid making a sound and clenched his fist. Some half-remembered part of Hanzo muttered that perhaps they should discuss this a lot more than they actually did, but really - impulse choices defined their relationship anyway.

With a sigh, Hanzo acquiesced. He rose up onto his elbows and gazed down at Genji, who was shamelessly enjoying himself. Hanzo really felt that he should be showing a little more hesitance, really, maybe some kind of sign that he was suffering the same confusion that he was. But of course, Genji had started this and he was way ahead of Hanzo on knowing what he wanted.

His mouth felt drier than usual. Hanzo swallowed.

"You know we can't go back from this," he finally said. This wasn't just a kiss shared in the darkness. It wasn't sitting together in a shitty hotel room, shoulders and knees pressed close. It was a step across an unknown border, into foreign lands typically reserved for those who didn't share the same surname.

Was Hanzo ready for that?

The hand that'd been twisting up the bed sheet went to Genji's bare shoulder. Hanzo squeezed.

"Ease up on the teeth." Even when granting permission, Hanzo had to include some kind of order. His tenderness was always camouflaged.

 

Genji nodded mutely, mostly because further talking might take from his confidence. It wasn’t like this was unfamiliar terrain. He had sucked plenty of dicks in his lifetime, just none of them had been Hanzo’s before.

The key was to go slow enough to watch Hanzo for his reaction without boring his brother. Everything else about this situation, how wrong it was, how irreversible the step, it flew out of his head. Genji was still exceptionally good at suppressing reality in favour of his pleasure. This was absolutely no different. Another kiss and he parted his lips, sliding Hanzo into his mouth. 

He was glad for his tongue remaining intact, because he would savour every moment of this. Hanzo didn’t taste special, or different, just as most men, and yet this was singular, unique, because it was his older brother, at last.

Genji didn’t think of consequences, not even death had taught him that, as he began to suck, in earnest, one hand at Hanzo’s hip, the other clenched in his thigh.

 

Was it wrong to be turned on by this?

_ Probably. _

Was Hanzo going to back out?

_ No. _

For all his nonchalance in regards to sex his personal lack thereof, his reaction was still strong. As it should be, since Genji clearly wasn't going to be wasting time with foreplay or teasing or any of that circumvented nonsense. When he said he wanted this, he had clearly meant every word of it.

His hand went from Genji's shoulder to his hip, where he was holding onto Hanzo. Their fingers laced together, but at least Hanzo didn't have to worry about hurting the metal digits.

The weight on his lower half could not be ignored. The warm, hot mouth on him could not be ignored. Hanzo had always been predisposed to silence, but a soft sound managed to escape him. Encouragement, concession, and confession rolled into one, it said everything he would never admit out loud.

_ Keep going. _

_ Go ahead. _

_ I want this. _


	6. Chapter 6

Hanzo’s enthusiasm was apparent, grew obvious under Genji’s touch. Their linked fingers kept Genji from moving that hand, but it wasn’t going anywhere anyway, because Genji was terribly busy right where he was. He sucked Hanzo in a little deeper, until he could taste most of his brother on his tongue, almost the back of his throat. The gradual, firming nature of the dick in his mouth let him know that he was doing well. Or at least, hitting minimum requirements for getting Hanzo off. It was a sight he didn’t want to miss, so he rolled his eyes up.

Watching Hanzo intently would mean he could soak in every detail, could understand exactly what Hanzo was feeling. The soft noise he made? Genji wanted to hear a thousand more just like it.

 

Hanzo stared down at Genji, breathing slowly so it wasn't obvious that he was breathing harder than usual. Goosebumps raced over his body with each movement of his lips, and his body periodically tensed whenever Genji managed to hit the right beat. It was an exquisite sort of torture trying to keep his face of control when Hanzo could practically feel his insides falling to shambles.

_ Wrong _ , said a voice that sounded like a mixture of the elders and his father.

"Fuck," he whispered, guttural.

Forget his hand. Hanzo grabbed his hair, applying a little pressure to make sure his brother stayed right where he was, with his throat full of his dick. This is what Genji wanted, wasn't it?

_ Not just Genji _ , the voice accused.

Hanzo pressed down harder.

_ Not just Genji _ , he agreed, and thrust deeper into his mouth.

 

Finally, a response more worthy of his brother’s desires. Genji wasn’t alone in this, or at least, he’d made it acceptable enough for Hanzo to actively participate. He wouldn’t choke, gag reflex long since conquered, but Hanzo was indeed very far down his throat, Genji’s nose pressed against cloth, hair and skin.

He sucked eagerly around the large obstruction, pressing his tongue to Hanzo’s shaft rhythmically. He always figured that men could give much better blowjobs, considering they could tell exactly what felt good, and he doubted many had given Hanzo this particular pleasure. Simply because his brother had never seemed very accepting of any sexual favours at all.

Another thing Genji guarded jealously for himself. This obsession, affliction, if you will, ran deeper than he was willing to admit. 

He wanted to purr his brother’s name, really let loose the old Genji, the master of seduction, cheeky, confident, cocky. But this was all he could give to Hanzo, with his lack of body. This would be the only pleasure either of them got...so he wanted Hanzo to experience something great. Something unique to Genji, that no memory or future lover could equal or erase. His sucking increased, though he avoided the scrape of teeth as he swallowed down as much of his brother as possible, throat constricting.

 

Many years from now, Hanzo would think back to this moment and say that this was where it all started in earnest. He'd say that this moment was when he and his brother crossed the point of no return, and spend long minutes musing to himself while slowly burning through his cigarette stash.

Now, however, Hanzo didn't have much space or inclination for such philosophical, introspective leanings.

His head lolled back and his Adam's apple bobbed as his throat worked, swallowing. A shaky, rattling sigh that bordered on an obscene moan slithered out of his mouth.

"Right... there," he panted, staring without seeing.

The skintight nature of his Blackwatch uniform highlighted his heaving chest, revealing just how engaged he really was.

 

Genji committed every detail to memory. The way Hanzo moaned, breathed, let go of whatever could still come between them...it was beautiful in its own right, and even with a mouth and throat full of dick, Genji could appreciate every inch of his brother’s reaction.

He didn’t idle, but kept at the certain spot, with the approximate pressure. Anything to make Hanzo feel how deeply Genji did want him. This was their first foray across this line, one that no sibling pair should think to cross. 

But Genji couldn’t think of Hanzo as merely a brother. He was...had become everything. His end. His new beginning. His companion who loved him unconditionally, no matter how little of him remained. A stranger turned brother anew. The only man Genji could claim to have ever truly loved.

 

Other considerations about the exact impact of what they were doing slipped away as Hanzo surrendered to the impulses of his body. He had no reason to hold back or deny himself, and Genji showed no sign of stopping. When he orgasmed, he tensed up bodily, face caught between rapture and single-minded focus.

There was something incredibly filthy about spilling into Genji's mouth. Which was why Hanzo made no effort to stop himself from doing it.

In the absence of thought left behind, Hanzo was content to lay back down, spent. His eyes were half-shut and half his hair had escaped his ribbon after being ground against the bed for the last...

He checked the time.

...twenty minutes.

"Well," he started, and stopped. He didn't really know what to say. Nor did he like the breathy quality of his voice. He licked his lips and tried to focus on the shock of black hair he could just barely see.

 

Genji had a mouthful of Hanzo and a throatful of dick. It wasn’t the worst situation he’d ever been in, far from it. His lips felt a little swollen, his mouth overly warm, hot even. It wasn’t dignified, entirely, to have his brother’s dick slide out, but there was no other way to dislodge the thick obtrusion. Genji swallowed, dutifully, as soon as he could. Not just out necessity, no. The way he licked his lips...there was something lewd about all of this. Forbidden. Filthy.

It felt so _ right _ .

“You liked that,” he looked up, a grin tugging at his lips.

 

“That is usually the natural reaction to these things,” Hanzo replied, but it lacked his normal bite. He drew an arm over his face, obscuring his eyes. “Fuck. That was…”

_ Messed up. _

_ Wrong. _

“... good.”

He could feel his father rolling in his grave right that moment.

“Get over here. Lay next to me.” 

 

Genji was prone to obey in this instance, and he moved his relatively heavy body to the side, falling into the mattress, stiff and unyielding, with relative ease. It had been an experience, but now that he and Hanzo had stepped over the moral line of family with seven mile steps, he felt...giddy. Hopeful, even. This was a dark little thing he had dreamed up, and somehow, Hanzo did too. Something just between them, an intensely wrong and yet right choice.

Genji stretched himself out alongside Hanzo’s body, fingers drifting over his own lips. Slightly swollen from the intense and enthusiastic sucking he’d been doing, still chapped and scarred as always. 

The taste of Hanzo clung to his tongue, his lips, burned in the back of his throat.

“...You taste like takoyaki.”

Incidentally, one of Genji’s favoured street foods.

 

“...You know how to set the mood,” Hanzo said dryly, he didn’t move from his prone, limp position on the bed. “I don’t know where you manage to get takoyaki like that, and I don’t  _ want _ to know.”

Snark aside, though… Hanzo moved his arm and stared at the ceiling, eyes blank. He was no religious man, but if there was anything that guaranteed passage into hell, this was it. Genji had still yet to actually discuss what they’d done, and Hanzo himself was reluctant to broach the subject. It felt too… touchy to be explored right now.

Hanzo reached down, and tucked himself back into his trousers. With a few tugs and adjustments, he had everything back into their proper places. For a long moment, the only sound in the room was the metallic slide of his zipper.

He could feel Genji looking at him. Hanzo didn’t turn to look back.

“I wonder what Reyes would say if he knew.”

 

Reyes. Genji wasn’t going to mention that his first thought was to cringe away at the mention of his former commander. Reyes and Morrison...

“Reyes wouldn’t say a word. It was always the mission that came first.”

He fell silent.

He didn’t want to ruin the shallow satisfaction of this moment with grief. Hanzo, his body, the pleasure they’d shared right now, it was a gentle veil to keep the world at bay.

But they’d break it, he already knew that. With some effort, he folded himself against Hanzo, human arm slung over his brother carelessly.

“What would _ father  _ say?”

He may as well be the one to break his own sweet reverie. The brief elation at being allowed so close and intimate with Hanzo...he couldn’t bear it to be just an illusion. They had to talk about it. They should have back in the omnic facility, when he had first kissed Hanzo.

 

“He would hate both of us and disown us immediately.” Hanzo’s answer was blunt. He didn’t protest the arm on his chest, but he did nothing to encourage it either - his world was still calibrating, and he needed a little more time to get everything nailed down. “But he’s dead, so it does not matter.”

Nothing mattered, really. Only they did. Blackwatch was falling apart, Overwatch was watching its coffin be made… it seemed that their ties to the organization were snapping, one by one. They didn’t have to explain themselves to anyone they didn’t want to.

“We can’t stay here, you know.”

 

“I know. We should find out where Ziegler is. Then we should go there. I just...I needed a moment.” 

To adjust to his world falling apart, again. To come to terms with the only presence in his life being Hanzo. Whatever else was going on between his brother and himself, it was taking a backseat to this crisis.

As for this impromptu intimacy...Genji pushed that away too.

“It wasn’t just Reyes who had the code. They could hunt me. Take care of their loose ends.”

He should be used to the notion of being chased down, marked for death, and yet some part of Genji feared this deeply. Blackwatch had made him. Now, he could not picture anything but his destruction at their hands, an inevitable fate. Hanzo made little difference in this equation. 

“How do we get to...her?”

Again. Genji was depending on Hanzo. His fate was sealed, but they’d keep it at bay, for as long as possible. And here he was, relying on Hanzo to lead, to guide, to know what to do. 

 

“She was the main doctor responsible for your revival. If there is anyone who can reverse the effects of the killswitch and free you from the limitations of this current body, it would be here. So we find her. Whether we have to kidnap her or bring her in peacefully, it does not matter. Our first matter of priority is finding out where she is, and what she is doing. Once that is determined, we can go to her and request her aid in upgrading you.”

Planning was good. He could plan. It was better than the uncomfortable messiness of emotions and their inevitable fallout. 

“Then we disappear. Cut our ties to Overwatch, let it sink.”

Angela Ziegler. Hanzo considered her. Blonde, young, intelligent. The miracle worker who’d saved his brother in the first place. He owed her a debt, which was why he would make sure he did his best to work peacefully with her. But in the end… honor had no place when his brother’s life was on the line.

“We will deal with this tomorrow. I need sleep and you need another maintenance session afterwards.”

Hanzo reached out and wrapped an arm around Genji. “Stay,” he instructed. “Read a book or something. Don’t wander off while I sleep.”

 

“Fine. I’ll stay here.”

With Hanzo’s arm around him, Genji felt anchored down, even if he could quite easily escape from this predicament. He didn’t need to sleep. Maintenance was regular and a dull affair, and it usually afforded his mind all the rest he needed. But leaving Hanzo...wasn’t particularly tempting. With a huff, he let his face hit the blanket wedged beneath them. For all their grim plans for the future, they were quite cozily nestled up together now.

“You did like it, right?”

The voice was quiet, the words just shy of confident. Genji could still taste Hanzo on his lips and slowly, doubt was taking up residence in his mind too.

 

_ Ah _ . He’d hoped to escape this conversation by distracting Genji with plans or the future. It seemed his brother was not so easily deterred.

“...I would not be here if I did not.”

An evasive non-answer was all that Hanzo would offer. If picked apart, his true meaning would come clear. Getting anything clearer from him would be like extracting teeth.

But he could sense Genji’s unrest.

With a huff, Hanzo turned so that he faced Genji. His hand closed over his face, covering his eyes. “Stop,” he said in a low voice, “You’re over-thinking. Stop worrying.” Hanzo coughed into the blanket, and was glad for the minimal light in the room. With the way his face was lit up by the glow of Genji’s biolights, any redness of his face wouldn’t be seen. “I liked it. Now go read a book, you’re being too noisy.”

 

“As if I read books,” Genji snapped, petulant and yet relieved, staying right where he was but dimming his lights and turning his gaze towards the ceiling. He’d stay put, lay still at his brother’s side, and maybe try not to break down over the terrible future that awaited them.

“Get some sleep then. I’ll be here.”

At least his blowjob had not gone amiss. That was a concerningly bright star in his limited sky. Genji would take his victories where he saw them, the world be damned.


	7. Chapter 7

He was, in fact, still there when Hanzo awoke. Just as his brother held silent vigil over his maintenance, Genji had not moved from the bed or his side for the duration of the night.

Switzerland was next. He’d meet Angela again, that much was clear. He wondered briefly how she would get along with Hanzo, or if any of that initial spark remained.

Convincing Overwatch emergency command that he had to see the prodigious doctor proved not to be difficult at all. Genji merely had to point out the fragile nature of his life-support (which somehow included spilling some vile liquid onto the dismayed and put-upon bureaucrat) and they had sanction to leave. Medical emergencies overcame even the dissolution of the entire framework. 

Genji knew Overwatch was crashing and burning, and he would not look back.

 

So it turned out Hanzo didn’t need to murder people to get his way. That was a good thing, since he’d smuggled in weapons to the meeting with the bureaucrat that controlled Genji’s ability to get his upgrade. Murder would be a little difficult to resolve and usually turned to more murder. Wasn’t it  _ nice _ when things worked out?

He’d discreetly returned the daggers to their rightful place in his duffle while they got ready to travel. Both of them went light, so it was an hour’s work from the base to being in the air, ready to fly into Switzerland from Germany. As per usual, Hanzo had his rigorously collected database of Swiss personnel to file through while they flew.

“Reyes is dead,” he reported with his usual merciless callousness. “Apparently he was involved when the Swiss HQ blew up.”

_ Not much of a loss. _ Reyes had been overbearing, controlling, and far too intelligent for Hanzo’s liking. He’d known Hanzo was a wild card the moment he saw him, and their relationship throughout these three years had been one of barter, blackmail, and jockeying over who got to have Genji.

 

“With Morrison, hm?”

That made a disturbing amount of sense, and Genji wasn’t going to think too deeply about his former commander’s personal affairs and the long-standing bitterness with Overwatch.

He did feel loss, mildly, even if the man had never been a warm presence. Genji was allergic to the use of fatherly comparisons, but Reyes had been hard and fair and never questioned the pure rage within the ruined Shimada.

He took a rogue missile and turned him into a pointed dagger, cloaked under the banner of Blackwatch.

For that, Genji was grateful.

“He was a...man.”

Eulogies were definitely not his strong suit, and neither were judgements about other people with other lives and other problems. Reyes wasn’t...good. A hardass, an unquestionable leader, and a reliable commander, but not a good man, but who was he to say?

 

“A dead one.” And when it came to the Shimada way, the dead don’t matter.

Morrison… Reyes… Amari… the triumvirate of Overwatch, shot down and blown up. Not a surprise considering their violent lifestyles, but something still not foreseen to happen  _ now _ . Hanzo wondered what the other agents would do now that Overwatch was obviously on its way to the trash. They all were more loyal than he was - would they be upset? Unhappy?

“There’s a funeral planned,” he noted. “I won’t be going. You?”

 

“I should.”

He was one of the few highly prolific Blackwatch agents, and his absence would be noted. But was a funeral not just another chance to pick up all the loose ends Blackwatch left unanswered? Reyes wouldn’t ask Genji to compromise himself like that. It felt wrong to attend such a hollow event for a man who would rather he did not.

At least, that’s how Genji understood Reyes in his lifetime. Besides. He hated funerals.

“I won’t. After we find Angela, we have to disappear. Completely. Blackwatch, Overwatch...I don’t want to be found anymore. I’m not their weapon anymore.”

He was...something else. A person? Maybe. Genji Shimada didn’t have a personal life anymore. He had no dreams, no thoughts on a future. Vengeance had been enough for all of these years.

 

“That can be done.”

It will be done, if Hanzo had his way. He approved of this thought from Genji - he’d been half-worried that Genji might ask him to stay and prop up Overwatch in its dying hours. But his brother saw sense, at least.

Neither of them would be anyone’s weapons anymore. If they fought, killed… it would be on their own terms, for themselves. Being someone’s chained hounds was not a suitable fate for dragons.

“Together,” he said, and gripped Genji’s palm. Not his human hand, which he used to always touch instead of his cybernetic one. Hanzo no longer made the effort of picking one over the other - they were both Genji’s.

 

“Together.” Genji agreed, making no move to dislodge his brother’s hand. Their touches had continued, uncommented, but always reciprocated, as if they both needed assurance they were real, at least to one another.

The grim future was a little less so with Hanzo’s warm touch right beside him. Genji could feel every kind of childish nostalgia at the notion that they’d forge their path together. For better or for worse.

Though he never would have had Hanzo threaten Angela into helping...Coercion wasn’t going to be an issue, he hoped, once they got to her remote location in the Swiss Alps. He didn’t want to have to promise violence upon the woman who saved his life, who was a potential friend and possibly one of the few people in the world knowledgeable enough to help him.

 

-x-

 

Unbeknownst to most Overwatch personnel, there was an additional Blackwatch base in Switzerland. It was sequestered in the Alps, deep into the snowy mountains, and kept out of the public eye. It was there that Angela Ziegler was hidden away - on whose prerogative, Hanzo didn’t know. He didn’t care.

She was reachable. That was the most important part.

“What do you mean she’s not available?”

Hanzo glared at the lab’s assistant that was currently blocking his way. The taller man wilted under his narrow look, but held firm.

“She - She said no one could enter the surgery room until she was done, Mr Shimada. I can’t let you in without proper authorization.”

 

Genji had only been in this base once, and that was when he’d been delivered from Japan, freshly on the verge of death, courtesy of his own brother. It wasn’t as if he could remember his time here, and he probably didn’t want to. It was kept out of most agents’ knowledge for good reason.

_ Experiments. _

It rang through his mind again and again, even if Angela’s sweet face next to that word made so little sense.

“Hanzo, we can wait. I’m sure she’s doing something important.”

 

Hanzo ignored him.

“There were no emergency surgeries on the roster,” he said pointedly, “she should be free right now.”

The assistant had no good answer to that. In fact, Hanzo doubted he knew anything at all. “She can see us now,” he continued, tone dipping into threatening, “or we can go in there ourselves.”

“ _ Mr Shimada _ ,” the voice over the intercom wasn’t a surprise. Hanzo glanced up, at the camera that was pointed their way. Dr Zeigler’s voice wasn’t cold, per se, but it certainly wasn’t warm.

He scowled. “What are you doing, doctor?”

“ _ I’m currently committed to a surgery, Mr Shimada. I will see Genji, but not now. _ ”

Perhaps its was paranoia. Perhaps it was nothing. But Hanzo didn’t trust her.

“...Very well,” he lied through his teeth. The assistant seemed less frazzled now that it seemed he was willing to move away. “We’ll come at a better time.”

Grabbing Genji’s wrist, he dragged him out of the hallway. Not that Genji could ever be  _ dragged _ , but Hanzo distracted him by tapping the inside of his wrist.

_ What is she doing? _

If there anyone who knew this woman, it was Genji. Genji, who seemed to understand why she was sequestered away. 

 

Genji didn’t actually know, but he trusted Angela. Trusted her enough to give her the benefit of the doubt and simply sit back to wait. She was already willing to help, wasn’t she? There was no need to get pushy, even if they did have limited time. The only reason he felt remotely safe was that Overwatch had authorized his upgrade and stood by that order, even in their time of dismantling. He had not lost all human rights just yet.

_ It doesn’t matter. She will help. _

Whatever Angela felt important enough to tend to...must be big. Figuratively speaking. Had Genji ever been on any official record when he was brought here? He wondered about that.

_ Vents? _

Now, technically speaking, he did just tell Hanzo it didn’t matter, but that didn’t mean they couldn’t take a look.

 

_ Of course. _

Wasit bad if he sometimes thought Genji and his relationship had gotten so much better  _ after _ the murder attempt?

Questions for another day.

They walked through the facility a little more, making sure they were seen by a few agents in areas that were away from the surgery room before beginning their covert observation. A few stolen tools from engineering, a small distraction, and an unscrewed wall panel later, they were in.

“Careful,” Hanzo muttered as he replaced the panel. It would pass cursory examination, which was what he was going for in the first place. The vents they were in were vertical, unfortunately, meaning an uncomfortable climb up to the next level and perhaps some effort to get to the network that led to the surgery room.

“You do remember how to climb, don’t you?”

 

His brother was graced with a look of ‘just watch’ before Genji indicated his cybernetic feet, which did not only included blade attachments. Climbing would be far easier with them magnetized anyway, and his vertical journey was entirely effortless.

“Can you say the same?”

He was willing to bet Hanzo had never upgraded his legs from being just that; legs. There were some perks to his artificial body after all, apart from monstrous strength.

 

Hanzo rolled his eyes in response. Just typical - not even violating that conventions of familyhood could temper his brother’s mouth.

His legs clicked quietly against the vent walls as he scampered up to join Genji on the next level. It was pitch black here, but Genji had night vision and Hanzo could use the illumination he trailed as a guide. “I don’t need  _ magnets _ ,” he quipped from behind him.

They were passing over the dorms. Medical shouldn’t be too far off.

 

Magnets certainly made the journey easier, and once the vents ran horizontal, Genji could simply switch it off. The smug little grin stayed longer than it should, because the easy banter with Hanzo was comforting and not particularly new. If anything, this was older than their freshly affirmed relationship, dating back as far as learning morse code in their childhood. 

It should make him sick, shouldn’t it? Comparing their childhood to this now? And yet all Genji felt was a vague sense of nostalgia, to forget the bad and keep the good, nevermind what their adult decisions held.

Medical was close, beneath them in fact. Genji wanted to see what Angela was doing, no matter how forbidden. The woman had a free pass where he was concerned.

But what he saw down there, it sent his artificially supported heart racing.

What...no, who  _ was _ that?

A mess that could hardly be described as human. Blood, gore, instruments and Angela’s splattered tools littered the scene.

Hanzo didn’t need to answer.

“Reyes?”

 

“The good doctor is not so good after all,” he murmured. He squeezed in next to Genji to catch a look at the man laid out over the doctor’s operating table. He looked… dead. More dead than usual. It must be the blood, and the visible organs.

Hanzo surveyed her work, then the woman herself. She didn’t seem to be in a hurry to revive him - something else, perhaps?

“Maybe she is trying to replicate what she did with you. Revive him, and support the body with cybernetics.” Hanzo said it even as he doubted it. He saw nothing that looked like they might connect to cybernetic networks. Just the mangled body of a dead man.

“Or not.”

 

“What is she doing?” Genji hissed, squeezing closer to the grate so he could see whatever he was missing. Angela looked concentrated, but in no hurry. Clearly, time was not a factor in this...autopsy? He shuddered. Wasn’t Reyes supposed to be buried next week? Why was his body this intact when they’d been told he was in the explosion? Was Morrison also on a slab here? Why was Angela conducting this in a secret Blackwatch facility? A thousand questions with no answers as he looked down and watched his savior.

Who was currently inserting a large needle into Reyes’ arm and squeezing something inky and dark into his corpse. Genji didn’t know enough about autopsies and post-mortem operations to judge, but he was pretty sure he saw a twitch go through the open-chested body. 

 

“Something she shouldn’t.” Hanzo wished he had some kind of recording device on him. Would Genji have something like that?

“Do you have a camera in there? Take pictures, make a video. Record it.”

This was valuable information - nothing that Hanzo should let pass by in good conscience.

Reyes twitched. Hanzo’s brows shot up.

“She might be using a different method, for the same purpose. How… unethical.”

 

“I’m not a human omnitool,” Genji snapped, quietly, because if they were discovered here there’d be hell to pay and Angela probably would not sanction an upgrade to his systems. He nudged at Hanzo to back away. They couldn’t be here. Clearly, whatever was happening with Reyes’ body was strictly off-limits and probably illegal.

He hadn’t expected it from Angela Ziegler, but he himself was merely an experiment, wasn’t he? Was it such a stretch that Reyes would fall under the same category?

Genji shuddered. He didn’t want to know.

“Let’s go. Don’t say a  _ word _ about this.”

 

“Not until it’s needed.” Which would be after Genji was upgraded. Hanzo wasn’t  _ stupid _ .

Quietly, they backed away from the surgery room. Backtracking to where they entered in solemn silence - at least, solemn on one end - they got out and redid the panel before returning the stolen tools. Hanzo kept quiet on the matter until he nudged at Genji to go outside. Not fully outside, where the Swiss chill was firmly in the air, but to the temperature regulated balcony that afforded a view of the mountains outside.

It lacked cameras and microphones, as Hanzo knew. Mostly because he’d made it his life’s mission to debug certain rooms of every base he visited. One three bases were fully debugged, as far as he knew, but he was working on it.

Oh well.  _ Was _ . No need after Blackwatch fell apart.

“Well. Shit,” he said without much fanfare as he watched the snow fall outside. “Remember you calling the Shimada-gumi immoral and criminal?”

 

“Not now, Hanzo,” Genji wasn’t particularly feeling well, even in the fresh air, which was crisp and hard on his lung. He had not lost faith entirely in Blackwatch, Overwatch and Ziegler, but it was a tough pill to swallow, watching someone you admire experiment with the corpse of someone you respected.

“It’s different. There’s still a good cause behind this. I thought you understood that by now.”

He might not wish to go down with Blackwatch, but he’d defend the organisation that had given his vengeance a framework to cling to.

 

“A good cause behind illegal experimentation on your commander’s corpse,” Hanzo snorted. “You’re reaching.”

He never cared for Reyes. But doing that was… pretty fucked up. “I wonder,” he started slowly, knowing it was only going to probe at a clear sore spot for Genji, “if she dragged him out of the grounds herself or if she waited for them to put him in a bodybag before starting? Suppose everyone will be crying over an empty coffin at his funeral?”

Was he slightly vindicated that Overwatch didn’t turn out to be as squeaky clean as Genji always said?  _ Yes _ . Was he even  _ more _ vindicated that the vaunted, respected, and faultless Angela Ziegler (as according to one Genji Shimada) turned out to be as dirty as the family he hated so much?  _ Hell yes. _

“But, it’s all for a good cause.  _ Of course _ .”

 

“ _ Don’t _ .”

It was a one-word warning, and Genji could feel anger claw at his insides. Whether it was simply Hanzo’s taunting, or the reality of Ziegler’s work that called it forth, he could not say. All he knew was that his brother needed to shut up about this. Genji could draw the comparisons to the Shimada himself, thank you very much. He was intensely aware of how foolish he’d been to believe Overwatch was somehow...inherently noble and that his work for Blackwatch was more than butchery.

“Excuse me?”

The assistant from earlier looked like he wished to be anywhere else on the planet right now, and he was probably not wrong to feel afraid.

“Doctor Ziegler will see you now.”


	8. Chapter 8

When Angela Ziegler came to meet them, nothing seemed out of place. No speck of dust marred her clothing, no hair out of place, eyes clear, expression open. She was the perfect example and vision of a medical expert you would trust. Someone to give your life to, easily, and expect nothing but miracles.

With what he saw fresh in his mind, even Genji had to admit that she was entirely too perfect, and it was chilling to think that this was all facade, potentially. Or at the very least, Angela felt very liberal about applying morality to her work. 

She was still the one to save his life, but now he understood there may have been nothing but practicality to it.

"Genji. I am glad to see you well."

The insipid rage continued to simmer, dragged out by Hanzo’s sharp words earlier, now turning its gaze on Angela.

_ Are you? Expecting me to have broken down by now? What was the sinister plan for me, Ziegler? _

"As am I to see you. I was worried when we heard about...the base."

Angela's fleeting expression of pain was surprisingly convincing. Was she as good an actress as a surgeon? Was their every previous exchange nothing but acting and lies?

"I'm glad you weren't there. But you came here with a reason, didn't you?" Finally, she acknowledged the glowering presence at Genji's side, "and your brother."

"Yes. Ah, this is Hanzo."

Genji awkwardly forgot that normal people introduced their company to each other, and it seemed out of place here too.

"My...upgrades. My body...it needs new parts."

"Ah."

Angela mustered her own work critically. There was much to be improved, Genji was a mere prototype of this technology and already she could see some fatal flaws and vulnerabilities that were unintentional.

"...I didn't think it'd be commissioned since Blackwatch is no longer in operation."

Genji tensed, back straighter, breath a little shorter.

"What are you saying, exactly?"

"I don't have the resources to transplant you to a new body. Nor do I have this new body on hand."

"But you said it was scheduled for this month when we spoke last!"

Angela held up her hands and Genji immediately lowered voice and gaze. 

"That was before everything fell apart, Genji. I am sorry, but I can't do this without clearance."

 

Hanzo listened, and was not surprised by what he heard. After years of being lied to and led around by the nose by the elders, he’d developed a deep-seated mistrust of anyone with authority over him. There always was an angle, always a deeper intention behind it. If you wanted anything done, you have to  _ force _ it to happen.

“Clearance from who?” he piped in, watching the doctor. “Morrison and Reyes are both dead. Who’s supposed to clear a body upgrade for an assassin that isn’t on the books?”

 

“Exactly.”

Angela wouldn’t be giving Hanzo the same patient game that she played with Genji. The younger Shimada was vastly different, despite all of his rightful anger, he was a good man. The same could not be claimed for his attempted murderer. She didn’t have the patience or the will to give Hanzo the benefit of the doubt. She knew what he did. She was the one to stitch together what Hanzo ripped apart.

“There is no longer an authority that can clear this upgrade. So I cannot do it.”

“Angela...”

Genji didn’t know how he could sound anything but devastated, but this was just about the last thing he’d expected from one of the last people he had faith in.

“I  _ am _ sorry, Genji. Maybe I can give you some mobile rig parts.”

 

“That’s not acceptable.” Hanzo cut in before Genji could continue with that heartbroken thread. He didn’t want to see him hurt - as much vindication it afforded him to see Genji see the reality of his compatriots, he didn’t want it to happen in such a…  _ vulnerable _ way. Anger was better. That, he could deal with.

“We were stuck in New Delhi when the news of Swiss HQ came in. We were stuck for two days, in which  _ he _ ,” Hanzo jerked his head at Genji, “nearly ran out of juice and died. If we hadn’t broken into a facility, he would be dead. Keeping him reliant on this  _ prototype  _ isn’t going to work out. Sooner or later, he will die because of this need. He needs a new body, a body that you can give him.”

Torture? No. She needs fine motor control. Blackmail? Could he trust her sentiment for Genji to be real? Too risky. Play on her duty as a doctor - would it work considering the lack of empathy she demonstrated? Perhaps she  _ was _ mournful about her friend’s death - that hadn’t stopped her from desecrating and illegally operating on his dead body.

What a puzzle she was.

Hanzo  _ hated _ puzzles.

“Overwatch is falling. If he’s going to have a chance of survival, you need to upgrade him.”

 

Genji had fallen silent as Hanzo spoke up. Strange, how protective he continued to be, despite everything that had happened to sever their bond as brothers. It would be too easy to cower behind Hanzo and hope his bark intimidated Angela into doing the right thing, but Hanzo wasn’t the Shimada who needed this to live.

He had to be a damn man here, and not a snivelling boy. Stepping forward, he reached for Angela’s hands. Maybe a little personal connection, a touch, could remind her of the great sympathy she’d lavished on Genji years ago.

It seemed to have some effect, because Angela did look Genji over with concern once Hanzo mentioned Delhi.

“You ran out of charge? That shouldn’t be possible at all.”

“I need your help. I wouldn’t have come if it was not...essential.”

“...You want to be _ free _ , don’t you?”

Of the prototype, of Blackwatch, whatever Angela was implying was correct and Genji only inclined his head to agree.

“Let me think it over. Stay the night. Please.”

Genji let her go as he nodded. It was a chance, right?

 

Hanzo remained quiet, sullen and attentive, and let Genji and the doctor have their heart to heart. He still didn’t trust her. He waited until they were out of her office and in their room before voicing it.

“How long do you think they won’t notice if we smuggle her out?”

Three years in Yokohama. Hanzo still remembered how to fit living human beings in suitcases. Guess something good  _ did _ come out of that after all.

“I’m only half serious. But if she says she can’t, again…” _I need authorization, there’s no proper authorization, I caaaan’t._ _Feh!_

 

“Hanzo.” Genji didn’t want to know how far his brother had spun that plan just whilst he wasn’t speaking. There was nothing cute or funny about it, because Hanzo had  _ done _ things like that. And no matter what kind of dark and shady business Angela engaged in with Reyes’...remains, she was still his miracle worker.

“You know she saved my life. And she will again. If you so much as think about harming her...” he didn’t need to put it into words. His tone was prickly enough to convey how readily he would defend her.

 

Hanzo levelled his brother a steady look. “I value your life more than I value your goodwill, or her health.”

That was the blunt truth of things. If Hanzo was pushed, he  _ would _ . Not that it was his first choice, but it wasn’t going to be off the table like Genji clearly wanted. He was not a hero - Hanzo was still as mercenary as ever, be it under his family, freelance, or with Blackwatch. And he wouldn’t let even Genji get in the way of that.

“But like I said; I won’t do it unless she  _ really means _ that part about  _ needing proper authorization _ .” Hanzo examined his hand for a moment before his gaze slid up to Genji again.

“Besides, it’s not like she  _ really _ cares about that. If she needed that so much, well, Reyes’ body was right there. Fresh enough to get an eye scan, or fingerprint - if she left those  _ alone _ , anyway.”

 

“Hanzo!”

This time, Genji’s patience was coming to a quick limit. Hanzo wasn’t going to let anything go that could make Genji wind in agonizing circles. Much the opposite. He was digging in his heels.

The temptation to punch his brother was becoming very real. Genji’s loss of faith was starting to combine with his anger at his helplessness in the face of everything and Hanzo’s snide commentary was incredibly unhelpful.

“Shut up. I mean it. Shut the fuck up about it.”

 

He had a choice. Quiet down and let Genji stew, or keeping pushing until the inevitable happened.

 

Hanzo considered the surly ass he called brother. Then he considered the widening of his eyes and the soft, oh-so-soft dejected tone in his voice when Ziegler denied him. And no matter how much Hanzo was hardened by the world, it still succeeded in creating that queasy sort of rage that had precipitated his every angry defense of his brother.

He’d been so  _ happy _ . So  _ certain _ . He’d  _ believed _ in her. For all his fury at the world, Genji was still a starry-eyed dreamer. He still  _ believed _ in things like miracles and heroes and  _ helping all the people around the world _ . But really… Reyes. Morrison.  _ Ziegler _ . They were ultimately pipe dreams and children’s lies. 

Fuck it. Better it happen with him, now and here, than watch him turn into a sad puppy dog when Overwatch and Ziegler disappointed him. Better that Hanzo be his villain for this moment and rip off the blindfold, before his so-called heroes turned around and shoved the shattered remnants of their image right into Genji’s fool heart.

He sat up. Taking a punch from Genji wasn’t so hard if he was ready for it.

“Why should I? Not talking about it won’t make it any less real. We were there, we saw his body on her table. She was gutting your commander like a dead pig, and no one knows about it but us. She is a  _ liar _ and she damn well  _ knew _ she cared nothing about authorization while she sat in her office, telling you she can’t do jack shit to help you. Where’s her good motive, Genji? Where’s her goodness? Nowhere, because she is a  _ liar _ and a  _ butcher _ , and because Overwatch is just as bad as the family you left behind.”

 

“That’s not true!” This time, Genji couldn’t just keep it in words. He wanted Hanzo to be silent, to stop speaking the harshness of the truth that Genji was beginning to realize. He wanted to stick his head in sand and ignore the world and everything it threw his way to take from his faith in humanity.

The punch came swiftly and aimed for Hanzo’s face, preferably to keep him from spilling any more acid words. Genji was hurting enough as it was. He knew the truth of Ziegler, he knew the truth of Reyes’ death, and none of it sat well with him.

He’d been working for another ring of liars and killers, just that they bore medals and a different name.

Hanzo’s body would be the outlet for Genji’s frustrated loss of faith.

 

The first hit sent white stars through his eyes. The second he caught, and rolled with. And just like before, they regressed three years and back into the no holds barred brawl meant to hurt each other as much as humanly possible.

“You’re a murderer!” Hanzo spat as they fell on the floor. Mutual agreement between them meant furniture was always pushed back against the walls, but their wild wrestling and intermittent fighting meant they knocked into them often. Hanzo was probably going to gain a bruise from where his back slammed against the bed frame.

“You’re exactly what our family wanted you to be. You’re no  _ better _ , and nor are they!”

Blood. Sweat. Pain.

“Just  _ accept _ it!”

 

“I’m not!”

Genji would argue until breath left his body. His fighting with Hanzo was more of a physical distraction than any kind of driven destruction of his brother. Each punch, kick, limbs knocked into each other made the rage a little lighter. Everything was better when he could feel Hanzo’s skin bruise or split beneath his fist. Hanzo was the world, the truth, and Genji wanted nothing more than for him to be wrong and silent.

Blackwatch was much like Shimada. Both wanted Genji to be something beside himself, wanted him to dream of nothing but obedience and objectives. What difference did intent make? Hanzo was right, but Genji didn’t want him to be. His unbearable arrogance shouldn’t be on the side of truth.

Three years of grinding into gear with one another couldn’t settle this root problem. Genji wanted to help the world. Hanzo would watch it burn. 

“I will never be like them! They made you their puppet! I would never be like you!”

 

“You. Are!” The skin of his knuckles split on the edge of his mask when he aimed a punch at Genji’s face. Hanzo ignored the blood smeared across Genji’s cheek to continue their furious fight.

“You’re a tool for Blackwatch! Get over it, and grow up!”

Genji could deny it all he wanted. Hanzo would only repeat it, louder, and keep pushing until he understood. That was simply how they worked. Peace… until there wasn’t.

“You’re just like me. You tried to run away, and you ended up right where you started!”

 

“You’re wrong! You don’t see it, you’ve never seen it, I am nothing like you!” Genji didn’t make a distinction between how the clan shaped Hanzo and Hanzo himself, even though a calmer version of himself could definitely tell what kind of person his brother once was. Before he became a fully fledged, stone-cold killer.

_ Just as as you are now. _

The traitorous voice of reasons had Hanzo’s face attached to it, so Genji could only satisfy his rage when he felt something crack. A bone, a tooth, it didn’t matter. Hanzo was the embodiment of  _ I told you so _ and Genji couldn’t stand it.

“I was helping! I was making the world a better place to live! All the clan ever cared about was themselves. There’s a difference!”

 

“Who were you helping? You only killed people!  _ We _ only killed people! That’s what Blackwatch  _ does -  _ we kill people that Overwatch can’t, and they  _ profit _ from it!”

Blood streamed down his eye. A cut on his head - likely from a nick. Annoyance, really.

“Where’s the difference, you idiot? Where the fuck is your good change? Who the  _ hell _ have you helped, Genji?!”

 

_ No one. Not even myself. _

Genji couldn't find words to rebuff the accusation so he simply growled and slammed his head into Hanzo’s in an effort to shut him up.

He'd helped no one. He wasn't a hero. He was a killer, a blight on the world just as his family name demanded. He had not escaped the clutches of the Shimada name, even across the world.

As sudden as the violence exploded out of him, it faded. Genji sank back, no longer interested in paving his guilt with Hanzo's blood. Hanzo was right.

“I'm...I'm still worthless.”

As he had been to his father. To his family. To the world. Genji thought he found his purpose. He had found an excuse, and adhered to his nature.

 

Like a limp doll, Genji fell over. Hanzo remained standing, though his hand cradled his tender skull. He waited for a fight that didn’t come until he realized that it was over -  _ really _ over.

“Don’t be stupid,” he grunted as he slid down against the wall. He might need stitches after this. What a pain. “You’re just lying to yourself, that’s all. Do you understand now?”

 

“Shut up, Hanzo.” Just because he was right didn't mean he had to rub it in Genji’s face. And just because he so easily saw through the pleasant veil of deception that his little brother had established didn't give him the right to act as if he knew anything about the world.

Tears used to come to him so easily, but now they felt alien on his skin. Genji laid on the ground, staring up and questioning whether or not he was even worth a new body and life.

“Sometimes I wish you had succeeded where you failed.”

_ Then I would at least not have stood in your way. _

 

He eyed Genji’s prone form.He should’ve expected this bout of misery, no matter how much it twisted up his insides. What else were you supposed to feel after your worldview was ripped apart, after all?

Slowly, he moved to Genji’s side. When no eruption of violence came, Hanzo eased himself into a sitting position next to him. “Wishes are wind,” he said gravely, “we can only walk on.”

He was silent, ponderous, as he watched Genji cry for his fallen heroes. Hanzo did not offer comfort to him. It was he who brought these tears to the forefront, and he would not insult Genji by turning around and trying to console him. He could, however, offer an apology for the pain.

“...sorry,” Hanzo said gruffly, “but I stand by what I said.”

Not an apology for his words. Hanzo never apologized for those. But everything else… he could stand to apologize for that.

He wiped away the blood trickling down his forehead on his sleeve. It would be hard and crusted once it dried, but Hanzo had dealt with worse things than a little blood on his clothes. Nothing felt broken in his body - perhaps a little tender. The bruises would be deep and Ziegler would have to stitch up the cut over his brow, but all in all, not a bad outcome. Nothing broken was considered a good day, in his book.

He glanced at Genji again.

Well, nothing broken physically.

 

Hanzo could take that apology and shove it deep within the recesses of his jaded heart. Of course he was only satisfied once Genji saw the world as bitterly as he did. It was always his prerogative to break Genji's hopeful cheer. Well, he finally succeeded.

Genji succumbed to misery with exceptional ease. Whether or not he'd receive his upgrades seemed of no consequence now.

Genji loved Hanzo, even now, but the older Shimada brother was a bitter pill of truth in this world.

“Then don't mock me with an apology you do not mean.”

 

“I am sorry for hurting you.” But not for going ahead with it anyway. Sentimentality was complicated for Hanzo.

How long would Genji sulk, he wondered. It was always difficult to tell with him. Sometimes he perked up with worrying swiftness. Sometimes he brooded for days. For once, Hanzo wished his brother's normally aggravating optimism would pop up again, just for his upgrade at least.

“Are you giving up?”

 

“Isn’t that what you told me to do?” Genji snapped, in no mood to entertain his brother’s mercurial shifts between accusing and guilty. Hanzo never had a good thing going in the world. He was aware of the clan and everything that came with it, even accepted it as the truth of people to be rotten, not worthy of respect. Human life was nothing significant to how they’d been raised.

And yet Genji had always been different. Could never be hard and cold and distant. Genji could never fall in line with Hanzo’s beliefs, and wasn’t that why, essentially, they were here? Didn’t everything just circle back to his brother in the end?

“I still don’t believe you. Blackwatch and Overwatch...they surely have flaws. But they are not one and the same as our...your...the clan. The world is not so black and white, brother. Not all people are as twisted as...those we know.”

 

A sigh.

Ah, Genji. In a way, his relentless ideals were charming. Like a determined weed growing on the sidewalk, side-stepped out of respect for its will to live.

“I told you to realize the world and our sponsors are not as guiltless as they would like to seem. Don't be obtuse.”

What did it take, really? Was watching Ziegler not enough? Was Overwatch’s fall not enough? How far did they need to go before Genji took his head out of the ground?

Hanzo folded his arms. “It's only going to be worse from here,” he predicted, “I warned you.”

 

Petulant silence was Genji’s answer and he continued to lay on the ground. He hardly took any damage from Hanzo, as usual, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t hurting. His brother was a spectacular failure in terms of emotional comfort, and Genji wasn’t young enough to take his mere presence as balm. Hanzo had intended to hurt him, in some effort to ‘wake’ Genji from his dream, but Hanzo didn’t know there was no need; just because he had hope for people in general didn’t mean Genji was unaware. Just because he denied the truth in favour of the ideal didn’t mean he forgot it existed.

He didn’t need his realist, pessimistic brother to burst any bubbles for him; he’d done enough of that when he killed Genji.

“You don’t need to come with me to see Angela again.”

 

“I will come.” Even when they stopped fighting, they struggled. Such was their relationship in between bouts of brotherly solidarity. Without someone to force them to unite, they ended up turning on each other.

Hanzo didn't trust her. Who knew what she might do to Genji? She certainly deserved not even an ounce of trust.

“I'm not letting you near her alone.” Visions of a dissected Genji, like Reyes, flashed through his mind. Hanzo shuddered.  _ Definitely not _ .

 

“I want to speak to her alone.” Genji reiterated, more forceful this time. He’d find out what Angela was hiding, and he would do so without blackmailing her into the truth. There must be a good reason she was digging around in Reyes’ body. Maybe something like his own resurrection? Maybe research for a cure of something else?

They had merely observed her, but without letting her take a stand, it was uncalled for and unfair that Genji should lose all faith in the woman who saved his life.

“I owe her that much. And so do you. She undid  _ your  _ mistake.”

 

Ow.

He had a point. But still.

Hanzo flinched. He was aware that Genji was doing this to distract him, but damn if it didn't work.

“...thirty minutes. Then I come in.”

 

“I will not barter for time spent with a friend, Hanzo.”

He was no child. And as much as Genji fell back into old patterns of relying on Hanzo, he was a man who could make his own decisions without the mantle of his brother hovering over him. They needed to find some way to coexist without all of this. Without the accusations, without the guilt and anger. But what remained beside that? Genji’s sickly love for his own flesh and blood? Hanzo’s begrudging acceptance that he and Genji were bound for eternity? It was too frail, too little. 

“Stay out of it. If you have any respect for me at all.”

 

His jaw clenched. What could he say against that? Stubborn, ridiculous Genji…

Hanzo sighed, much louder than the previous.

“Fine.”

He was going to regret this, he could feel it. But he would let Genji have his way since he was, somehow, marginally and barely in the right. Hanzo could respect that.

No, really.

“Have your meeting. I will not interfere.”

 

“Good.”

 


	9. Chapter 9

Despite Hanzo’s bitter experiences and words, Angela Ziegler was not a monster. And she certainly did care for Genji, because the night spent in thought had her arrive at the conclusion that it was her duty to make sure Genji could take care of himself. Making him a lethal weapon was a byproduct of that process.

Genji was still a little petulant about Hanzo’s harsh words. So much so he did not inform him that he’d be going into the surgery. When Angela remarked on his brother’s absence, Genji said nothing at all. Hanzo was smart. He’d figure things out.

 

Out of respect for Genji, Hanzo allowed him the time he needed to speak with Angela. He did not snoop or sneak on his affairs, as much as he was tempted to, and kept his nose firmly out of Genji’s affairs. Not that he made it  _ easy _ , mind, since he seemed to find much fulfilment in testing Hanzo’s limitations.

When one hour turned into two, and that into three Hanzo’s patience officially ended. The rut he’d wearing into the hole of HQ saw an end to its use as he prowled outside the surgery room, debating with himself whether he wanted to barge in or wait.

_ He would rather have me wait. _

_ What if he is in danger? _

Genji was a grown man. He could handle himself. But he was also his little brother. What use was Hanzo if he could not help his brother in his possible time of need?

_ Angela is not evil _ , his inner Genji seemed to say.  _ I can trust her. Probably more than I can trust you. She brought me back to life, where you killed me. _

Fuck. What use was this arguing? He had to act  _ now _ .

Again, another glance at the door. What was happening in there? To his consternation, it seemed the base had no cameras pointed into the surgery room. Apparently it was for the sake of ‘patient confidentiality’. Not that Hanzo put much stock in how much respect Blackwatch put in  _ anyone’s _ privacy - they only stood by it when it suited their purposes. And right now, this transparent lack of ability to scrutinize the doctor’s actions seemed dodgy.

Go in, or stay out? Decisions.

In the end, he opted to wait.

 

Hours passed in a moment's notice. Genji went into surgery, heard Angela's words before he faded into the realm of unconsciousness. Whatever happened next, he trusted in her. She'd saved him before. She was his friend. She would do what was right, no matter her other pursuits. He even pushed the image of Reyes' dead body out of his mind. It couldn't matter to him anymore. He had to put his life and faith into Angela's hands, and he did.

Whatever he'd lose, it was worth the independence he'd gain. Freedom. 

 

Angela Ziegler was a tireless worker, and it took six hours before she emerged from her operating theater, satisfied with her work; no less a miracle than the first time she'd saved Genji's life. The procedure this time around however saw less of Genji saved than any operations before.

The cybernetic body had been prepared months ago, waiting for approval, for Genji to be deserving of such a dangerous upgrade; with this, he didn't need Overwatch. Or Blackwatch. With the maintenance eliminated, with the technology infused with his remaining flesh, there was nothing left to control him with.

And Genji deserved freedom. Angela had given it thought, long and hard, and she knew that the best course of action for the Shimada was to leave them all behind. And he should. He should have the chance, as any other person, to experience life for himself. And now that Overwatch was falling...she had no delusions about what the future entailed for every former Blackwatch agent.

She emerged, tired, and her eyes immediately fell upon the hovering dragon of a man in the waiting area.

"...You can see him."

There was no need to ask if he wanted to or not. Besides, Genji was ready as soon as he woke up, to leave. 

 

_ Finally. _

Hanzo rushed past her, into the surgery room. He was eager to see what had become of his brother after spending so much time waiting for him with bated breath.

“Genji! How are you feeling?”

A new body. It was more streamlined than the one before it, but Hanzo could only focus on his brother’s face - or where it was supposed to be. A frisson of fear went through him when he realized it was covered - visor, or something else entirely? She wouldn’t  _ remove _ anything more, would she?

“Do you feel any different?”

 

Considering he was just emerging from a lengthy amount of surgery, Genji wasn’t certain ‘different’ encapsulated his range of perceived feeling. He didn’t try to move. There was something on his face. A visor now, fully engulfing what skin was left of his face. His arm...he couldn’t feel it as he used to.

Everything was listed as ‘functional’ on the internal display, inside of his retina. He’d grown used to the numbers, learned how to interpret them, to understand his new body.

But this, this was different. Very, very different.

“Hanzo?”

He questioned, quietly, voice mildly distorted. Was he even awake yet? He heard his brother, but it could just be a distant memory, fighting its way through his murky mind.

 

“I’m here,” he rushed to Genji’s side, and held onto his hand. Mechanical hand. What happened to his flesh and blood one? Encapsulated by more metal, perhaps?

“Do you need anything?”  _ Why did you not tell me she was operating, you little shit? _ “If you weren’t so confused right now, I would be  _ yelling _ at you.”

Genji was covered in new armor. It was better than the one before it, he could tell that much, but all other concerns fell away when it came to the worrying amount of disorientation Genji was displaying. She hadn’t done anything  _ further _ , had she?

“Is your body… independent, now?”

 

“I...don’t see any maintenance scheduling,” Genji continued to sound disorientated, because waking up in an entirely new body was not the status quo, even for him. There was sensory input everywhere, registering Hanzo’s presence, temperature, height, weight...why he needed this information, he did not know but it came as a flood and it swamped his struggling consciousness. He just wanted to  _ wake up  _ properly, damn it.

“The visor...off.” he muttered, raising his free hand sluggishly to find some latches. Did he even still have a face? As soon as the piece came off, panic swamped him.

“My arm...it’s gone?!”

Yes. Complete cybernetics flanked his sides, though he did have readings of his remaining organs.

 

“What?”

He glanced at Genji’s arm, brows knitted, “What do you mean? It…”

_ It’s right there _ , he wanted to say. But he held back. Genji wouldn’t be that ridiculous. Had his arm been  _ removed _ ?

“Why would she do that?” It didn’t make sense. What was the  _ point _ ? “What else did she do?”

_ I can kill her right now _ , Hanzo would’ve added if Genji was slightly more coherent. No need to add further stress while he was so… unbalanced, though.

 

“I don’t...know yet. I’m getting up.” 

Genji replaced the visor, drawing his new body up. Technically, he had meant to swing over the side and slide off of the bed, really. He had meant to simply get on his new feet and see what it felt like.

Why was he glowing and hissing and perched on the table reserved for operating tools? Some sort of protocols were sliding across his eyes, in German, which was not his strong suit in the first place, and deciphering it was certainly not his priority. 

“What...!” 

Hypersensitive. That’s what his sensors were. The mere thought of movement had his cybernetics active, sleek and swiftly.

 

Hanzo stepped back, instinctively shifting into a defensive stance. When no opposition came, he let himself relax marginally. “Genji,” he said disapprovingly, frowning, “stop that.”

Genji’s current state was making him uneasy. What was wrong with him? Why was he reacting like this? What had Ziegler  _ done _ to him? And where was she, anyway?

“Relax. Come here.” Hanzo held up his hands, offering support.

 

“I’m...trying.” 

It was hard work, not to simply jump across the entire room. He felt so light...it was incredible. The loss of his arm was already shifting to the back of his mind, no longer the terrible priority it had been upon waking. This was...something else. He felt mobile, unbound. In his previous cybernetic form, everything had taken practice, months of it, before he could move as quickly as he needed. Now, it seemed effortless.

Gingerly, he stepped down from the perch and tried to walk like a normal human being. The hissing of the pressure plates on his new body was distracting enough for him to stop halfway through. He pressed one back into his chest, which he didn’t feel. What was it doing? 

“This is...I feel like an alien.”

 

“Calm down.” Hanzo took a few steps closer, eyeing his brother suspiciously to see if he would suddenly leap up again. When he didn’t move, Hanzo inched closer. He pressed one hand on Genji’s shoulder, frowning at the heat he felt coursing through it, then slowly placed his other hand on his other shoulder when he didn’t move.

“You were upgraded. Some disorientation is understandable.”

Not that Hanzo himself wasn’t thrown off either. He couldn’t suppress the wrinkle between his brows, or the frown on his face as he looked his brother over. “She did… much to change you. Your visor… can you take it off still?”

“Yes....but not all of this comes off,” Genji reached up to touch his own head. Protrusions, pointed, covered his ears. Did he still have hair? Could he take off this helmet-like thing surrounding the visor? Questions that needed answers.

“But I don’t need maintenance anymore. I don’t think I can detach from any of this anymore.”

Another glance down. There was so much white polymer and metal...Was this really his body?

“What...do I look like?”

There was no need to tell Hanzo to be honest. If there was one thing he could count on, it was his brother’s blatant and often rude honesty.

 

“You like you, but better. Sleeker.” Hanzo circled him slowly, examining the new body his brother had. It looked much thinner than his previous one, but much of it looked cleaner and neater. A better make, essentially.

“You don’t look like an omnic, if that’s what you’re thinking,” he added. He  _ knew _ Genji’s train of thoughts, especially when it came to this. “Not like any omnic I’ve seen anyway. Your design is too human.”

The beige parts almost looked like naked muscle. Hanzo experimentally touched one, just to see what it felt like. It was tough and ungiving - so not an approximation of skin, then. “Take your visor off.”

 

_ Not omnic.  _

It didn’t look like it from his angle. Hanzo couldn’t see the internal systems, the numbers, the interface. He couldn’t see everything that was so very not human about Genji’s new body.

But the price of freedom had to be paid, didn’t it?

With a sigh, Genji unlatched the visor. It was light in his hands, but they were no longer human hands. 

“I can feel when you touch it, but it’s not like skin. It just...registers pressure. Warmth. I can monitor your heartrate, for whatever that’s worth.”

It was tough to believe himself human if he’d lost more of his senses, replaced by technology. If Genji didn’t feel like a mechanized weapon before, he certainly did now.

 

“That’s better than before, isn’t it? You didn’t feel anything then.” Genji was probably thinking about how he lost more of his humanity because he’d chosen to get upgraded, wasn’t he?

Hanzo narrowed his eyes.

“Stop moping,” he said as he plucked the visor out of his hands. He raised it up to get a better look, examining every part of it. It felt quite different than anything he’d seen before. Ziegler certainly hadn’t held back for Genji’s sake. He peered at his eyes as well.

“Your eyes are brown, like before. No glowing.”

 

“...They are?” Now that was a surprise. What hadn’t Angela changed? His arm, his eyes, his body...and he only felt vaguely sore. Whatever procedures she’d implemented, she executed masterfully. Warmth spread in his chest. He’d not been wrong. Angela was still a trustworthy friend, whom he owed gratitude to.

“And I’m not moping. I agreed to this. I just...didn’t expect so much change.”

His body was new, and Genji vaguely giddy about it. It would wear off, the novelty, but for now, there were fancy lights, pressure plates and a lot of sleek limbs that he needed to get familiar with. He returned to the bed, if only to sit down and touch what was now his.

“There’s a lot more systems than I remember. No exposed tubes...that’s good,” he spoke to himself more than his brother. And inevitably, his gaze fell into his own lap. He didn’t say anything there, but that...whatever it was, definitely stuck out as different.  _ Panels  _ where there had been none before. Some kind of idling process, waiting for activation.

 

“Did you even think about these changes?” Hanzo muttered, rolling his eyes.

“Stop gawking and  _ do _ something. We can’t leave until you figure out your body and stop jumping around like a neurotic cat.” The door to the surgery room was closed when Hanzo checked. Apparently Ziegler seemed to understand that Genji required some measure of privacy for this.

“Just figure out the differences. You can poke at your body at a later date. Maybe in our own room, and not  _ here _ .”

“I’m not jumping right now am I?” Genji snapped, annoyed with Hanzo’s impatience. He had no idea what it felt like to have an entire new body. Easy to demand when there was no base for empathy.

Right. Legs. No jumping. Just walking. A couple of calibrations to the sensitivity should do the trick. Genji bit his lip, concentrating on using the interface. Good thing he’d always liked video games and cracking codes, because it was making his life a lot easier now.

“Right.”

He pressed on the plating, testing how much response there was. Normal. Adequately human. Alright. Although when he slipped a hand over the new panels, something curled through him and into his human parts. What...in hell. What had Angela _ done _ to him? 

Genji was definitely going to need one more conversation with her before they could leave.

“Let’s go to our room then. I need some...time.”

 

“Hold my hand if you’re feeling that jumpy.” Hanzo might have kept his acerbic tone, but he still offered his hand. He didn’t care if they were seen - everyone here was probably going to be  _ jailed _ soon anyway. And he didn’t particularly want Genji to slip on the tenuous control he seemed to have and end up falling out a window, or running into a wall, or… anything, really. There were endless possibilities for fucking up.

“Our rooms aren’t that far. You just have to keep walking.”

How heavy was this body? Could Hanzo carry it, if need be?

He peered closer at Genji, as if trying to divine the truth from just his vision.

 

“I think I’m fine, brother.” 

Genji wanted to sound pointed, really, but it did push at a certain button to know Hanzo was concerned for him. It was sweet, in all of Hanzo’s sour personality. Genji did not take his hand, but he did brush an appreciative touch over it. He would walk on his own, thank you very much, and not crash into people or walls.

“Let’s go. Quickly.”

And so they did.

Genji kept it together until they got to the privacy of their temporary accommodations. Nothing fancy, nothing luxurious, but clean and private. Hanzo no doubt already checked the room for bugs. Paranoia was part of his nature.

Genji didn’t care. As long as the door locked, he was fine. His new body was all that was on his mind, and he immediately sat down again to poke and prod at parts that never moved before.

“Angela kept her word. Do you see why I trust her now?”

 

“Marginally,” Hanzo replied blandly. While Genji rushed in, clearly in a hurry to continue messing with his new body, Hanzo took his time to lock the door and scan the room for anything changed. Nothing. He saw Ziegler nowhere, but he would have to find her for a talk sometime. Just to know what she did, and what he would have to expect.

“Now. Genji.” Hanzo waved a hand. “Go on. Since you’re clearly so excited - show us what you can do.”

 

“I have no idea. That’s why it’s...exciting.”

It was, actually. He could probably stick to ceilings, walk up walls, and master all sorts of superhuman tricks. But what had caught his attention was very non-active and very much in need of investigation.

“There’s panels here. I don’t know what these things do,” brushing over the plating didn’t do more than feel like a nice breeze on skin. That was pleasant. Genji pressed on the new and bothersome panels. And his expression fell into something beyond shock. What. Was. That.

It was slow to emerge, whatever this part did, and it pressurized into something vaguely familiar, if Genji could recall human anatomy with polymer and glinting chrome. This...it looked like a toy. For very adult purposes.

“...This is new.”

 

Hanzo’s face met his palm.

“Of all things,” he said, “you manage to find  _ that _ first.”

Why was he even surprised? Of course he would. It was  _ Genji _ .

“I remember you complaining about this all the time. Happy now? Looks like Ziegler was listening after all.” What had she been thinking when she chose to install this, anyway? That she’d forgotten it the first time around, so she might as well this time?

 

“...Listening to what? I never told her that I...”

Felt like less of a man without a penis? He was a thousand percent sure he had never mentioned it to Angela or any living soul, no matter how obvious his moping had been on certain days. Genji brushed a hand over it.

_ Oh. _

Sensors. More of them than he could recount in his legs or arms. Why had Angela even considered adding this to his design? Gratitude washed over him in uncomfortable waves. He underestimated how thoughtful she could be. The woman deserved more than the occasional swiss chocolates, surely.

“It’s sensitive.”

And it lit up, with neon green biolighting, similar to the rest of his armor.

 

“Please, you complain about it all the time we’re together. She probably heard you then.” Hanzo certainly was a regular listener to Genji’s woes - and vice versa. Hanzo checked the door again - no need for anyone to walk in on this ridiculous moment - before moving to his side of the room. With a grunt, he was up on the top bed of their shared bunks.

“No,  _ really _ ?” he offered. A more considerate brother might’ve offered to leave or something similar. Not Hanzo though. He was not going to be chased out of his room by Genji’s burgeoning discovery.

“You’re going to spend your entire time playing with that, aren’t you?” he said, “Not figuring out everything else.”

 

“Everything else will follow. I haven’t...I’m no _ t playing _ , Hanzo.”

Were it his actual, human body, he might have felt embarrassed by some vague sense of decency. Probably not in front of Hanzo, who had seen him naked at the worst of times, but still.

But considering his new dick was plastic and metal and  _ shiny _ , he didn’t have the mind to be embarrassed. With new confidence and a fascinated expression, Genji wrapped a hand around it. It was a damn shame he didn’t have skin to feel it anymore.

It was warm. And smooth. Kind of pleasant, actually. An experimental tightening of his hand had Genji gasp, mortified a second later to have made noise at all.

“I can feel...You have to touch this.”

 

He gave his brother a narrow look, looking straight down at the small space between the bunks and the wall that showed him a narrow slice of his brother. A part of him argued that he  _ really _ should go but… ah. Well. There was everything else to consider and Genji was clearly so…  _ happy. _

It wasn’t like they hadn’t done something similar before.

His glare softened into something considering. With a grunt, he dropped down from his bed and into Genji’s, swinging in such a way his feet never touched the floor. It took some effort to fit the both of them in, but Hanzo managed.

“You’re incorrigible,” he said, but his hand was already moving. “Don’t accidentally hit me.”

Lightly, his fingertips brushed against the base first. Just to make sure Ziegler didn’t add an  _ electric current _ or something equally awful. When nothing surprised him, Hanzo hand closed around it. Hm. Clearly mechanical, but not unpleasant. Not bad work.

 

Hanzo’s touch was not meant for more than exploration, but Genji could feel something tingle over what remained of his spine. Amazing. How had Angela managed to attach...things like this? Had she constructed, or merely planned out this entire cybernetic prosthetic for him? It was obvious, to Genji at least, that this was an offer for him to be a person again. Nobody could regrow his body, and this would never be a complete rectification of his attempted murder, but...

It was a pretty good start. His heart rate picked up. Warmth, spiralling up. Phantom responses? Maybe.

“I can feel you...it’s different.  _ Why _ would...I mean, I didn’t even know this was possible.”

 

“She  _ is _ one of the best in the business, Genji. Maybe she found a way to connect your nerves to your outer body. Or artificial nerves.” Hanzo shrugged a shoulder. He never pretended to be an expert on these matters. “You’ve been wanting something like for a long time, haven’t you?”

Privately, he was glad for Genji. A touch exasperated, sure, but mostly glad that his brother was getting what he deserved. As nervous as he was about these… changes and as suspicious as he was of Ziegler’s intentions, he could be happy for Genji just over this.

His hand moved. As obviously gleeful Genji was over this, he seemed quite… dumbfounded as well. As if he could not believe this was real. Had he  _ really _ convinced himself that he was doomed to that prototype body forever?

He could feel the individual details of it under his palm. It was segmented, it seemed, and matched the rest of the materials that went into Genji’s body. Points for continuity, Hanzo supposed. He was also a little curious as to how the sensors worked with Genji - could he only feel pressure and touch? Did he feel heat? Humidity? If Ziegler could give him this, why not extend that to his entire body?

He pumped his hand. “Does this mean you can orgasm now?” Hanzo asked, one brow raised. It sounded sensible but… who knew?

 

It was not a squeak. Genji would refuse it, would deny it until he was in the grave for the final time. 

It was a noise somewhere above a moan and a gasp because Genji could feel what Hanzo was doing, and if he wasn’t intensely aware that he no longer possessed a body, he would have been fooled by the feeling. It felt exactly as back then.

Genji still had a face that could flush, still had blood to colour it red.

“How...” breathy. His voice was breathy. He had not experienced anything approximating an orgasm in over four years. 

 

Hanzo gazed at his brother’s dumbstruck expression. What skin he could see was bright red and his eyes were glazed, clearly faraway. 

Again, he considered him.

Then he came to a decision. Genji already had a point on his side, after all. And now, Hanzo could actually reciprocate.

He examined what he held. It felt different to any dick he’d held before, obviously, and Hanzo wondered at what else it differed in. He had little problem with pumping it - the ridges weren’t significant enough to get in the way, and much of it was fairly smooth. Good, since his skin wouldn’t be able to handle that.

“Keep your hands to yourself,” Hanzo told him. He did not appreciate any pulling fingers on his head, no matter how warmly inclined he was.

His head dipped lower. Reluctance didn’t stop him. Much of that, quite honestly had fallen away after their encounters. But Hanzo was a cautious man above all, and he treated this with all the diligence and attention it deserved. “Really.  _ No _ hands.”

His warm breath wafted over the very tip as Hanzo rested an arm across Genji’s thigh. From this close, he could see the way the white plates gently reflected the green lighting. When he brushed his thumb over them, he found their surface to be smooth and congruent with the rest of the shaft.

“Since you were surprised about this, I’m going to assume you didn’t ask for the lights,” Hanzo huffed, and the corner of his mouth quirked up. “Ziegler really knows your taste level, doesn’t she?”

He wet his lips in preparation, and swallowed it half-way. Nothing drastic at first - he would need to get accustomed to it.

 

Genji’s unspoken question of whether or not he could still feel the difference between a hand and a mouth was answered. 

Yes. Yes he could.

Another gasp and now he wanted to clamp a hand on his mouth. Back in his younger days, he’d gotten plenty of head. Really. He made a conscious effort to get his dick sucked by men, women, a broad sample of whatever and whoever he could get his hands on.

When his life ended, all of that ground to a halt. Genji had not spent a lot of time mourning sex, but some nights, it weighed heavily on him. A simple human act that he was forever denied.

Well...not anymore.

Hanzo looked good with his head bowed. Genji wished he could pull away the ribbon and have his hair pool into his lap too, but right now, he was far too preoccupied with the amazing revelation of having back something approximating a sex life.

Even if it was currently restricted to his brother’s good graces.

“Han..zo. You don’t have to...” 

_ He didn't have to, _  some part of Genji whispered, _but he really should_ _. _

 

Hanzo had no reply for him. Hard to, when his mouth was full.

His weight on Genji, he lowered his head as he concentrated on his task at hand. More of Genji’s dick disappeared into his mouth as Hanzo relaxed his throat, and let his tongue flatten. His eyes were downcast and he paused to swallow before he drooled messily. Hanzo disliked messes like that.

It was warm in his mouth. His dick possessed none of the characteristics of a human one - no smell, no hair, not even skin - but it was curiously warm in a way that was reminiscent of life. As his lips touched the base and he felt the tip bump at the back of his throat, he could silently admit that this was probably better than any previous experience he’d had. Just because it was so…  _ neat _ .

He backed away, cheeks hollowed, and began to suck in earnest. 

 

The only difference was the sensation. It came almost immediately, and it registered heat and pressure and touch, but there was the slightest delay in things one could feel with skin. A processor was guiding the input to his brain, combining several methods in order to give him the same response as nerve endings would...but there was a difference.

Genji wasn’t spoiled enough to complain about it. It was a new way to experience a mouth on his...well, dick, but it was more than he’d thought he’d ever feel again.

Now he couldn’t keep his hands from Hanzo’s head. He wanted to undo that obnoxiously tidy hair. His brother was blowing him, he should look appropriately ruffled to hit all of Genji’s markers.

“It’s good,” he whispered, fingers as soft as possible on Hanzo’s head, “I want to say you seem practiced at this, Hanzo.”

 

Hanzo pointedly swatted away Genji’s wandering hands. One set of instructions, and of course he went against them. He was fortunate that Hanzo was such a generous brother. In silent concession, he tugged off the ribbon that his hands had been aiming for. It fell down near his shoulders, the ends of the ribbon trailing over Genji’s legs.

Hanzo’s practice, as Genji put it, really only arose from fooling around when he’d been much, much younger. After father’s death… well, he stopped with that entirely.

The tiny edge of plate caught on his lip. Light peeked out from his mouth as his tongue explored the stark difference between the plating on top and the softer polymer under it. Deliberate design choice, perhaps?

 

Genji obediently moved his hands back to the bed, in an effort not to ruin this moment. It wasn’t tender, necessarily, but it was intimate. Hanzo was definitely helping him explore this new body and Genji was tense with gratitude and sensory overload. Hanzo’s lips, his tongue, the warmth of his mouth...feeling all of it had Genji breathing hard, suppressing a litany of filthy praise for his brother.

“Hanzo...” warm affection mingled with demand. As if Hanzo could do any more...Genji wasn’t sure what he was hoping for. Something small pinged across his mostly blank interface, a binary query. Genji dismissed what choice he made in favour of the spiralling pleasure at the core of his current existence.

He took no notice of the secondary panel sliding back under Hanzo’s touch.

 

While Genji was evidently distracted, Hanzo was not nearly so overtaken. It was hard to miss the movement under one’s chin, after all, and he abruptly stopped when he realized Genji’s body had undergone yet another change. One he  _ definitely  _ was not expecting. With a wet sound, his dick slid out of Hanzo’s mouth as his attention was shifted elsewhere.

“Genji,” he said. His voice rasped a little and he cleared his throat. “Genji. What the hell, look. Did you even ask what she was  _ doing _ ?”

That looked like a… but that shouldn’t be here. _What the hell, Ziegler?_


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> should we have tagged for robopussy? Y'all knew what y'all were getting with this pairing tho.

The sudden interruption to his bliss was jarring for Genji and he looked down with an accusing hurt in his eyes. Was Hanzo serious? Did he know how long it had been for Genji to feel anything like this? And now he was playing games?

“Why did you stop?”

His gaze dropped down past his glistening new dick.

Oh.

_ What. _

What had she  _ done _ ? 

There was no mistaking this body part and what it mimicked, but what was it doing on his body? What possible use could Genji get...well, alright he knew what kind of use he’d get, but why would Angela think he’d prefer some sort of vagina over any other kind of opening?

Immediately, he had to move a hand so he could touch it. It didn’t look terrible, per say, but it put to question as to what Angela thought appropriate in restoring Genji some sense of humanity.

“...I can honestly, with absolute certainty, say that this subject has never come up in any conversation. I have never wanted to have one of these.”

A finger prodded and the material gave way, soft and pliant. Silicone?  _ Oh Angela. We are going to have the most uncomfortable discussion of my life. _

 

“This is why I wanted to be present for your conversation,” Hanzo groused. He backed away more to get a better look at it. Genji’s hand obscured most of it, but he could clearly see it - and what its obvious purpose was to be. He was equally confounded as Genji as why it was there, however.

“Why did she… the hell.” Morbidly fascinated, Hanzo prodded it as well. Soft and yielding, fairly similar to skin.  _ What the hell. _ “What are you going to do? Ask her to get rid of it or what?”

 

“I...I want to know why she thought I would want it.”

Genji, somewhere deep down, could pinpoint exactly what topic had brought this on. Oh Angela, sweet, observant, slightly devious Angela, had interpreted his stories with a twist he never expected.

“Of course she’ll remove it, right?”

Although it was almost...pretty. Clearly designed only with the basic building blocks of an actual woman’s anatomy, the silicone and polymer kept the same colour scheme as the rest of his body, with the soft glow of a green light deeper inside.

Genji spread his hand to cover it up entirely. Someone had worked on this. Forged, shaped, designed him a mechanical hole to  _ use _ ...Gods, he was suddenly terrified of asking Angela how this choice came to be. He really didn't want to hear her answer.

 

Hanzo pointed a finger at him - it was only semi-accusing. “I bet you made her think you wanted it.”

He wouldn’t be surprised. Genji apparently had a talent for letting people know exactly what he wanted without ever saying it outright. “Look, you’re going to ask her to fix this now if you really don’t want it. She’s still here, I think. We won’t be, though. If you want it gone, Genji, then we have to move.”

Blowjobs could always come later. A chance to have the doctor available and willing to work was difficult in these times, however.

 

“Let’s not...rush anything.”

It wasn’t like it diminished him in any way. And speaking with Angela was bound to be humiliating because she’d point out precisely where and when he somehow made her think he’d like to have a biological woman’s genital parts. At least his chestplate looked flat and unassuming, but that didn't help him at all. It just meant Angela had, with surgical precision, taken on what Genji wistfully mused about under her care.

“It’s not like it’s a problem. I don’t want to seem ungrateful.”

Besides.

Curiosity was a terrible thing to leave to its own devices.

Genji’s finger inched in a little. When he pressed into the sides...he shuddered. It seemed to be just as functional as his dick.

“It’s kind of interesting, isn’t it?”

 

Curse Genji’s curiosity… and curse his own curiosity too. Hanzo, against his better judgment, leaned in to look as well.

It looked fairly innocuous. Similar in design to his dick, actually, with the white and green lights. Hanzo pushed at the sides first, and found that it was considerably softer than the rest of Genji. His curious fingers pushed further in, just to test the limitations of this newest discovery.

“Does it work exactly like a woman’s does?” he wondered out loud. It certainly felt close enough. “Hold on, wait…”

There was something within. Surely, she hadn’t gone  _ that _ far…? Hanzo pushed at the small node he uncovered, bemused.

 

This time it was a moan, unmistakable in its nature and leaving Genji’s mouth at full volume. He looked at Hanzo, almost offended by the brazen touch, but the sensation was phenomenal. Suddenly, he felt a ravenous jealousy that he’d never known this feeling before. 

“Is this what you do with women, Hanzo? Two fingers deep before you even kiss them?”

Might as well use his one and only chance to mock his brother and his blunt ways. 

 

“Actually, yes,” he said, just to fuck with Genji. 

As much as he seemed to think his brother was some sort of sexless anemone prior to this, Hanzo did actually have flings and one night stands. They were simply not as often as Genji’s affairs, nor so loudly broadcasted.

“Are you offended that I’m not kissing you?”

Hanzo pressed on the spot he found harder, rubbing his thumb into that node that had made Genji react so strongly. To his internal surprise, he felt trace wetness against his fingers. Even  _ that _ , Ziegler?

Careful, he probed a finger deeper in.

 

Genji wasn't going to lose this back and forth game. Even if he did want to writhe on Hanzo’s fingers and moan like a twenty dollar whore working for a meal and tip.

“Actually, I am. You're a rude lover, Hanzo.”

Genji would push for what he could. Maybe this new body part could help him and Hanzo connect on more unsavoury levels.

“I wouldn't treat you this way. Be gentler. It’s brand-new.”

 

“I don’t see you disliking it,” Hanzo griped, but complied anyway. His hand slid away from Genji and he moved up so their faces were more level. Their eyes met for a moment before Hanzo kissed him. He was slow, methodical, as if he was more interested in bringing Genji to heel than anything else. Hanzo wasn’t really the gentlest of lovers.

Again, his fingers dipped in between his legs. Admittedly, Hanzo was also fascinated by what he was dealing with there. Mindful of what his brother said, his touch was even lighter than before.

 

Better. With Hanzo's lips busied, he could no longer make scalding commentary to this. What had begun as a baffled exploration of Genji's new body was rapidly becoming something else. Genji didn't want to put a name to it just yet. He was too busy grinding into Hanzo's fingers. It felt good, especially now that it was softer, not demanding so much of his freshly minted... What was he going to call it? 

He'd decide later. Right now, the test drive was more important. He whispered some nonsensical encouragement into his brother's mouth.

 

The sole finger slid in, aided by the wetness that was growing there. Some kind of lubricant, perhaps? A distant part of him wondered over it while everything else was preoccupied with the way Genji sighed into his mouth when Hanzo moved his fingers just so. The frantic, tense energy of before was gone, replaced by a nameless laxity. Genji’s sprawled legs took up the majority of space on the bed and Hanzo was pressed along the wall bodily, pinned in by that and his brother.

Kissing Genji wasn’t a rushed affair. The two of them didn’t hurry and Hanzo refused to move any quicker than the pace he set. His finger reflected this same pace - after he’d sunk into the first knuckle with no complaint from him, Hanzo dared push further.

Again, a lack of protest. So he let himself explore further, letting it move and feel out the inside. Slowly, it pumped in and out, but Hanzo wouldn’t go any further than that. Let Genji decide on that, since he had been right about the overall freshness of this new part.

 

It was new and weird. Good weird. Genji tried not to think at all, instead concentrating loosely on the sensations happening in his new body.  Hanzo knew what he was doing, despite his earlier whining. He wasn't rough, but he was firm.

Suddenly Genji felt jealous of anyone that had ever touched his brother, or had been touched by him. They didn't deserve it. The irrational dragon in him demanded that Hanzo never again touch another.

“More. Come on. More, Hanzo.”

 

“Impatient,” Hanzo grunted, but he abided. One finger became two, and he stopped treating Genji as if he were made of glass. Their previous fumbling around was lost in favor of the intensity they were losing themselves, and Hanzo no longer paused to evaluate Genji or snap off a biting remark. Somewhere in their writhing, Hanzo had ended up on top of Genji, in between his legs.

Two became three. There was something exhilarating about the way Genji parted for him, so keenly eager. Hanzo moved into their kisses with abandon, not letting up even when Genji broke off to moan loudly.

 

This was rapidly becoming something more than mere exploration. Genji wanted to see how far this could go, how much Hanzo would give in. Gratitude for Angela? Make it fivefold now. 

His entire sensory system was between his legs, or at least that's what it felt like. Everything was filled with Hanzo, from unnecessary readings about his heart rate to the state of lubrication of his...valve? What the hell was a valve? His new body part?

Whatever. All that mattered right now was that Hanzo continued what he was doing and filled that incessant void inside of Genji. He stared up at his brother, and he knew there was only one thing he wanted to do right now.

“Hanzo. Fuck me.”

 

That sounded like the best idea in the world right now. Hanzo could gladly get into that.

Hurriedly, he reached down to pull his trousers down. Every second wasted wrestling with them was a second he wasn’t doing exactly what Genji said - a crying shame, really. Finally, he was free. Another moment was wasted getting them both lined up, but with a final thrust, Hanzo was in.

His breath stuttered as he hunched over Genji, one hand splayed across his chest. He had to pause just to get his bearings, before continuing. He stared down at Genji, somehow both terribly aware of the next line they’d crossed but ignoring it at the same time.

 

Hindsight and regret would have to take a  damn backseat. Genji had experience with various lovers, men, women, one time an omnic, but he’d never had any body parts but his own to experiment with. This valve of his, suddenly tightly filled, adjusting around Hanzo, forcing Genji to keep his legs spread as his brother sank into him deeply...

It was breathtaking. Fuck the terrible line they were crossing. Fuck what blood bound them together. They were far, far too entangled to let go of each other, like two snakes biting into each other’s tails. Or dragons, as was more befitting.

“Hanzo!” he gasped when his brother shifted his hips. The sensation of another being in him wasn’t new, but the sensitivity of his sensors was. Hanzo was already threatening to overwhelm them and he’d barely started.

 

Genji was tighter than he expected. Hanzo had to swallow back a gasp as he sank in. For all his nonchalance, it  _ had _ been a long time. And now he had his brother’s moans in his ears, loud and inescapable, while Hanzo thrust deep into his body. Lost in their newfound pace, neither of them stopped to think about the consequences of what they were doing. They could only claw at each other, looking for more and more.

Green light seemed to flare blindingly bright. It filled Hanzo’s vision until it was all he could see – his brother’s lights and his gasping, glazed expression.

Here they went again, breaking all boundaries with no thought of the consequences. This was a sickness, a new kind of madness. The borders of their relationship were being redrawn as they fucked, as wild and uncontrollable as animals, and neither of them cared. In their mindless indulgence, the only thing that mattered was seeking out more and more.

Genji yielded under him as Hanzo pounded into him, flexible and willing, and Hanzo’s grip on him hardened. The bed was creaking under them, protesting everything they did.

 

It was perhaps the first instance in which Genji surrendered to his brother without a word of rebellion said, without the edge of doubt creeping into his thoughts. In fact, his mind was doing its best to keep as quiet as possible, because Genji was experiencing something so essential to his quality of life that it didn’t matter what other hellish things were happening or being committed.

Hanzo was the only person whom his life seemed to revolve around. His death, his new life, it was supposed to be a new beginning, and still he circled back around his brother, demanded and wanted him deeper until they fused to be one. No one could hurt him the way Hanzo did. No one could make him as happy as Hanzo could. 

Genji had no mind, no willpower to consider any of it. Hanzo was doing his best to fuck him into oblivion and Genji was inclined to let him. Despite the cybernetic form of his new body, the unfamiliar feeling of sensors instead of flesh and skin, the sensation of sex was hitting all the right markers. The fact that it was Hanzo...well that just meant this warmly kindled flame was a raging wildfire.

For once, Genji was content to let it all burn. 

Hard and fast and deep. That’s what Hanzo was giving him, and Genji did his tireless best to meet his brother’s efforts. He tried clenching; it worked too well, and he could feel Hanzo’s shudder all the way in his own bones. Genji gripped the loose black hair, peppered with silver and he pulled Hanzo back to his lips, more biting than kissing. Whatever form of an orgasm he was about to experience wouldn’t make him wait for long.

 

There was a flash of pain in his scalp when he felt his hair be tugged and suddenly their lips were meeting again, teeth clashing. Hanzo hissed and bit Genji in retaliation for breaking his sole rule -  _ again _ \- and his hips moved sharper, more punishing. Even their fucking was almost a fight all on its own, vicious on both sides, and orgasm struck Hanzo like a freight train.

He didn’t think to pull out. Buried in his brother, lips red with what tasted like blood, and eyes blazing, Hanzo bit down on the tail end of his groan as he felt a bone-deep shiver pass through him. His body tensed as he bore down on Genji, pushing him into the bed as black stars burst across his eyes.

“...fuck,” he panted out as he relaxed. His arms gave way, letting him fall unceremoniously across Genji’s chest.

 

Five years had passed since Genji last had the chance to feel like this. Five years that felt like eternity without his essential parts. Five years since he’d thrown himself into a desperate round of sex with anyone and reaped the rewards in climaxing. It was different. There was no fluid for him to be rid of, no relief to the tightness in his body. His sensors registered an overload and it felt like an orgasm to him, but there was nothing visual other than a bright wink of his lighting to confirm any different state.

According to readings that he barely paid attention to, his body was restoring ordinary function and would begin a cleaning cycle. Genji couldn’t care less, laying flat on his back, his hands stroking over Hanzo’s head as he took deep breaths that his lungs ached for.

“...That felt amazing. I’m keeping this.”

_ Thank you Angela. Truly an angel among the people of the world. _

Whatever crafty death-defying experiments she conducted in her own time no longer mattered to Genji.

His world had narrowed to himself, at least for now.

He rapped his knuckles over Hanzo’s skull in an effort of light punishment.

“It’s no wonder you never kept a lover with _your_ bedside manners.”

Honestly. Spilling himself without a word of warning or courteous request to do so. Someone was going to have to teach Hanzo _ better  _ than that.

 

“Fuck you,” he grunted into his chest. He wasn’t here to discuss his shortcomings as a partner, thanks. Especially right after a fuck he was feeling down to his bones. There was going to be an  _ ache _ after this. “You’re not a woman and you don’t have to worry about diseases from either of us. Shut up and enjoy the moment.”

Hanzo was never that much of a generous lover anyway. He did what he came to do, and little else besides. With a sigh, he rolled off of Genji and considered the dark underside of the top bunk.

“So did you actually…?” he waved his hand, not bothering to finish the question. Nothing from Genji seemed to really indicate anything he recognized at any rate.

 

“I think so.”

He didn’t need to say it. Genji suspected that his miraculous new body had limitations that couldn’t be overcome, but he was damn content with what he’d just discovered. Maybe that’s why Angela let him have both sensory input options. Yes. That’s definitely what he was going to call his shiny dick and his amazingly soft not-vagina.

This was going to be a troubling thought, one day. But right now, Genji was all for getting some much needed sexual satisfaction. Did he mention it’s been years?

“It was better than anything I could have hoped for. It felt real. Like...a body.”

Genji gingerly avoided the ‘was it good for you’ portion of this conversation, because something that sounded like loud little fans activated around his hips and a ‘cleaning’ message popped up in his internal interface. 

Oh. Well. Wasn’t that convenient?

 

“Oh, self-cleaning. Wonderful.” Hanzo stared up, not meeting Genji’s eyes. He didn’t particularly want to now that the high of sex and the orgasm was wearing off. There was something a little… a lot… fucked up about this entire situation and it would be best for his peace of mind if he could just dodge for a few hours at least.

“...you still need to figure out the rest,” he pointed out, deciding that focusing on Genji’s body was a better choice than talking about what they did.

 

“I think I’m good. I’ll figure it out along the way. We can’t stay, remember?”

Because no matter how blissful ignorance could be, Genji still knew his world was at an end and no amount of sex and wonderful orgasms would let him forget he didn’t have a place in the world. He turned to Hanzo, if only to stare at him. His reason, his life, everything was influenced by this one man. Genji should hate him. He had every right. He did not.

“We already crossed this line,” he whispered, more to remind himself than his brother, “you and me. No one else is really left.”

 

Hanzo swallowed at the reminder. Yes, he knew this. It weighed like a heavy stone in his gut, pulling him down whenever it seemed like he might break the surface of his ocean’s worth of problems. Genji’s presence suddenly felt overwhelming, overbearing, and Hanzo was silently drowning under the gravity of his expectant gaze.

“We did,” he replied hoarsely, “just like before.” What was the next line they would burst through and turn into smithereens? What else could they desecrate with their personal brand of sickness?

“But wasn’t that the point?” Hanzo finally turned to face Genji. His mouth was a grim slash - an expression that wasn’t fitting so soon after sex. “We’re just… going further. It was already crossed.”

Perhaps they had crossed it when Hanzo killed Genji. Perhaps it was when they reunited to turn on their clan. Or when they kissed. Or any time, really, because who could tell anymore?

 

“Do you regret it already? Crossing the line with me?” Genji didn’t know how anyone but Hanzo could be so moody post-orgasm, but it didn’t surprise him to hear his brother bring down the atmosphere into something clammy and uncomfortable. How typical. It was no surprise to Genji that Hanzo never held down any relationships. His brother was a particular kind of cold.

 

“...no,” Not that particular line, anyway. Would they be like this if Hanzo had not made that fatal decision? Perhaps not, perhaps yes. He did not know, and the pondering of it only gave him a headache. But the line Genji spoke of was the one crossing into intimacy, and Hanzo never really managed to muster up the adequate amount of self-loathing it should have brought.

“No. I can’t say I do.”

Melancholy now, Hanzo curled closer to Genji. He still emitted the same comforting tune of working machines and whirring processes, all things that brought rest to Hanzo’s usual turmoil. He listened to the sound of his brother for a fraction, then sighed again.

“I think I would do it again.”

 

“I think you should. We should. Again.” 

Genji wasn’t, per se, insatiable for the experience of sex, but he did not want to make it a rare occurrence. And Hanzo was, as previously stated, the only person in his current world. It was lonely, and strange, and it would have to do. Genji reached out, touching despite knowing how much Hanzo spited him for it. Sometimes, he just wanted to stroke the perpetual scowl out of his face.

“I’m not asking for an explanation or a declaration. I don’t want to think about it. Just be with me.”

 

“Alright.” Then Hanzo would offer him neither. That was actually rather comforting to know. His eyes closed and he let Genji touch him with no argument. Some fights were simply not worth fighting. “I can do that.”

They lay like that for some time, time measured by their breaths, until sleep tugged at Hanzo’s eyelids. He felt sluggish and overburdened, but he didn’t care enough to move to his own bed. If Genji wanted space, he would have to move himself. Melting into the tangled sheets that had been witness to their latest fuck-up, Hanzo let himself sleep without a single word to his brother.

 


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know it's been ages since we updated this, but hey better late than never :D

“It should not cost this much,” Hanzo said, frowning at their Sherpa guide. Despite the thick scarf covering a good portion of his face, he managed to scowl impressively. “Do not fleece us after we paid you so handsomely.”

Their guide, a lean hard-faced woman with wind-scorched cheeks, did not back down. “I guided you up the mountains to Shambali,” she said, “we have more to travel. Hard winds. Cold. Need more money. I picked you up from the bottom.”

“We negotiated this at the bottom,” Hanzo countered. They still continued to walk, but their pace slowed and allowed Genji to outpace them both. Hanzo didn’t pay attention to him – he continued to bicker with their guide, snapping back at her when she doggedly argued for more lest she leave them.

By the end of the day, Hanzo allowed two curly twenty-dollar bills out of his tight pocket and into her hands. His face remained fiercely sour afterwards, and he was sullen as they continued to trek upwards. Cold wind slapped at any bare skin and he spared a moment to glance enviously at his brother, who was lightly clothed and clearly unbothered by the weather.

If it was wasn’t for Genji’s nagging, they wouldn’t even be here in the first place. Hanzo wasn’t even sure why he’d consented to this trip in the first place – it was an idea bound to failure.

_ ‘Let’s visit the Shambali monks in Nepal, Hanzo’ _ , Hanzo thought scathingly, glaring icicles into his brother’s back,  _ ‘maybe these omnics will know more about me than my own older brother’. _

Well, he got his way in the end. Hanzo was just here so he could pull Genji’s ass out of the inevitable fire.

He stamped through the snow, shook himself like an irritable horse, and peered upward. The red-slate roofs of the small village at the foot of the monastery were visible, peeking over the edge like curious mice. Naked brown tracks wound away from it like snakes and he saw small figures industriously working to clear the snow and ice from the rest of the tracks.

They reached one such track just as the sun kissed the mountaintops. Orange and pink light streaked across the frosted sky as Hanzo kicked his boots against a cobblestone of the path to shake off the snow. Genji bound ahead, too eager for his own good, and Hanzo shot another fierce glare at him as he sighed, hefted his bags higher, and moved to follow.

Next time, he would make Genji hold the rest of the bags.

It took another laborious five minute trek up, but they finally reached the village. All the roads were stone, cleanly measured and cut, and the buildings were weathered wood. The entire place must have been recently swept because the snow cover here was thinner than everywhere else.

Hanzo left footprints in the white powder underfoot as he ventured forth. The people here – and they were most definitely people, and not omnics – were dressed in a mix of winter-wear, wools, and colorful linen. Some of them looked at them, but they seemed too used to visitors to pay much mind to another set of pilgrims.

Hanzo glanced through each street and measured up the buildings before continuing after Genji. No one here seemed suspicious. He could pull out his bow and kill most of them, and duck into cover if it were necessary. Their guide could not have tipped anyone off, he’d made sure to watch her closely the entire trek. Genji would be safe.

He pulled down his scarf to inhale a lungful of that foreboding, freezing mountain air, and looked up at their true destination. Shambali Monastery loomed over the village like a lord’s castle, and his mouth twisted. It looked terribly sleek and new, and he noticed the slightest shimmer of yellow against the snow. Gold? Perhaps. Only god knew how much money these monks received each year in ‘donations’.

There was another brown, stony track leading up to monastery, but most likely these monks made no use of it. Not good enough.

Genji had paused, also looking up. Hanzo drew up near him.

“Shambali Monastery,” he said, voice low, wary, “you’ve your wish, brother.”

Through the corner of his eye, Hanzo noticed the snowflakes melt before they touched Genji. Before each flake died in flight, they flared neon against his few visible lights. He could not see his eyes behind his visor and Genji was still, stiller than Hanzo thought him capable of.

What was he thinking? Was he happy? Hopeful? Did he think that metal and circuitry would bring him all the answers he craved?

Hanzo’s eyes narrowed. “Well? You’ve dragged us all the way over here.”

 

“Give me a moment.”

A moment could be a mere second or it could be hours, but Genji had no need to explain himself to Hanzo in this instance. They’d come here on his wish alone, not that Hanzo had ever voiced any. Blackwatch, Overwatch...it was all behind them now. Both organizations lay in ruins, stripped apart by those that put it together or simply eager vultures. Genji had said his piece - to himself, mind you - about what he owed those that had saved his life and vowed not to ruin their work by being anyone’s weapon.

That decision, however, did leave him at the uncomfortable truth of his life; what was he? Genji of the Shimada had died a long time ago. Genji the Blackwatch agent was buried with Commander Reyes. Genji the new and improved, easily-mistaken-for-an-omnic had yet to decide what his life was for, and what it was worth.

He only knew three facts about himself right now; he was not a tool or a weapon, he still could do good in the world and Hanzo was the only person who could ever stand by him. Those three things had to be enough, but they were a mere start, not an answer.

 

So Genji had questioned himself, his beliefs, his place in the world. And somehow, his thoughts had turned to the omnics that claimed sentience, that lived as though they had every right and wisdom to. The monks of Shambali were, if anything, the height of conscious living in a cybernetic form. Maybe the living machines could understand him better than people.

Hanzo had his doubts, of course, but he’d come along this far. Maybe it would be better if he wasn’t dogging Genji’s every step with the monks. It was an intensely private sort of experience, was it not?

“Perhaps you should stay here. There’s bound to be a bar.”

 

“Probably tastes like piss,” Hanzo replied as he took a bag off his shoulder and held it for Genji. “If you’ve this much cheek in you, you can hold the rest of our things.”

Like hell was he letting him walk into that suspiciously-rich monastery without backup. Dr. Ziegler already managed to chop off the few remains of his brother’s torso - he wasn’t going to allow these monks to take what was left. No, Hanzo would follow and ensure Genji kept his head.

“I do not trust these monks. You should not either. I will not accept finally retrieving you from Overwatch to lose you to an omnic cult.”

 

Genji could be petty and mention that Hanzo had failed to ‘retrieve’ anything, instead joining Blackwatch, an organization he could easily be an enemy to, just to be close to Genji. If anything, Hanzo had thrown himself into following his little brother, and nothing else.

But he had bigger things to worry about than winning an argument with Hanzo right now. The bags he’d been handed weighed nothing to him as Genji slung them across his back and continued to stare up at the monastery. It had a certain ethereal glow to it and it made him nervous. He’d never been very spiritual, definitely not religious. Nothing beyond believing in the family guardians (which had proven themselves very real in the form of dragons), in any case.

“...I don’t think meeting them with suspicion and your general demeanour of simmering resentment is the best approach.”

Genji finally pulled his gaze away from the monastery and his visor landed on Hanzo.

 

“They’re monks. If they can’t handle that, what good are they?” Hanzo and the topic of spirituality had a long, complicated relationship based on skepticism, begrudging belief, and the weight of centuries-long familial tradition.

Now properly unloaded, Hanzo felt light enough to actually walk. He shifted his sole remaining bag - the one containing his bow - and walked on before Genji could start looking at him. “Come on then, let’s locate nirvana before we grow old.”

Hanzo glanced back at Genji a final time, hazel eyes glittering. “This is for you,” he said, “so I will stay my tongue… for now.”

He turned and began to make the climb up, clearly expecting Genji to follow.

 

“You’re already old, it may be too late for you.”

‘Climb’ was an exaggeration, at least for Genji’s part in all of this. The mountain road was very thin, a mere footpath, really, and the steep incline didn’t invite pilgrimage, but Genji was no longer human and bound to such hindrances. Even with the several bags dangling from his back, he outpaced Hanzo with ease. Silent and somewhat grateful despite his words to his brother, he approached what could be the cradle of answers to his questions. Right here, he could find himself, truly. Under these golden, snow-topped roofs, truth awaited him.

Or at least a bunch of very curious omnic monks that may or may not welcome him into their midst.

There was a gate at the end of the path. Hanzo’s breath and Genji’s biolights were the only disturbances in the air, which was growing crowded with fat snowflakes. They dissolved into water on Genji’s ‘skin’ and clung to Hanzo’s hair.

The gate was not open, so Genji made use of the snow-encrusted knocker and stepped back, tense, ready for...well, anything.

 

Genji bounded up the mountain, too swift for any reply Hanzo could have made, and he rolled his eyes after him. “Show off,” he grunted and continued even as Genji displayed his enhanced prowess with several daring leaps up the sheer cliff face that the monastery’s entrance lay on.

They both made good time, however, and Genji had the grace to wait before he rushed inside. Hanzo hung back, preferring to wait and watch.

The knocker made an impressive noise against the iron-belted wooden doors. Two painted eyes, keen and knowing, peered down at them from the archway above the doors, and Hanzo’s scowl deepened slightly when he noticed the nine dots between the eyes. Omnic markings.

“Perhaps they are closed,” Hanzo said flatly. “Oh well. Time to go home, Genji -”

As if on cue to contradict him, the gates opened. They moved soundlessly and revealed a long, wide courtyard, clean of snow, and a monk walking towards them.

It was dressed simply but neatly, and didn’t rush to approach them. Hanzo nudged Genji’s back, urging him forward, and they left the snowfall outside. Hanzo glanced up and saw the faint, reflective dome over the whole compound.

Weather-control dome. So that was how they kept this place under control.

The monk bowed down to them. Seven dots glowed on his smooth forehead. “Welcome, travellers,” it said, modulated voice clipped and sonorous. “What brings you to Shambali?”

 

“Uh, we...I...have questions. About...a lot.”

Genji had prepared nothing in ways of an explanation. He somehow had doubted that they’d make it here in the first place, and if they did, the monks would magically know him, right?

Very much not the case. He reached up for his visor, letting it dim as he slid it off of the last remnants of his face, eyes on the monk, bowing his head. He could be respectful, even if he had no idea whether this was the place for him or not.

“I have nowhere else to turn. I was hoping to stay.”

 

Behind Genji, Hanzo rolled his eyes. He would have said something too, if it weren’t for his promise to hide his fangs for a few days.

“All are welcome,” the monk said peaceably, making no note of Genji’s nervousness. “Are you here to learn the way of the Iris?”

If the revelation of Genji’s eyes bothered it, it made no show. Hanzo pursed his lips and touched Genji’s elbow, giving it a squeeze. Honestly, getting flustered like he was still a boy.  _ Genji _ .

 

“Not really. I think. I’m not sure. Thank you.” Genji ignored Hanzo’s touch. What would he have done in his situation? Just grunted out some order, or glared at the monk until he was invited? He was pretty sure his brother wasn’t any more socially graceful. 

At least they were welcome...sort of. He was, anyway.

“I’m here to find out what convinces you that you are alive,” and whether or not it would apply to him too.

 

The monk took a moment to process that. Then, tilting its head, it said, “That is a question that many ask of us. You will not be the first. If you wish to learn… then come inside. Lay down your bags, rest, and we shall do our best to explain.”

The monk stepped back a fraction. “My name is Tenzin. You are?”

 

Well, that was more accepting than expected. Genji saw no reason to distrust this monk, who seemed entirely unfazed by his cybernetic body and human face.

“Shimada, Genji. This is my brother, Hanzo.” 

He also saw no reason to pretend to be another. No one would look for him here, and surely the gumi’s reach didn’t extend to the mountains of Tibet. 

 

“Welcome, Genji and Hanzo,” Tenzin said. He turned a little. “Follow me. There will be room enough for you here. In the winter, the number of visitors are much, much lower.”

Hanzo exchanged a look with Genji. Something unsaid flickered in his eyes before he followed the monk, distrustful.

They walked into the compound and Hanzo lingered back a half-step, taking in everything covertly. He was already beginning to memorize the layout of the place while half-listening to Tenzin make polite conversation with Genji.

After the initial pleasantries, the monk finally hit upon the golden egg. “I could not help but notice… but your body, it is largely cybernetic, isn’t it?” Tenzin was good at seeming serene, but Hanzo noted the curiosity in its tone. “I have never seen a human with so many cybernetic changes before.”

Hanzo’s teeth made a slight squeal as he ground them together.

 

“Yes, well, I don’t know if I’d still call it human. My body...well, my new body, it was a necessity.” Genji didn’t yet feel threatened or intruded upon, much the opposite. Tenzin was a very polite fellow, keeping his distance physically and verbally, until now anyway. He couldn’t begrudge the monk its curiosity. Genji truly was something unique in all the world. And it was, very partially, Hanzo’s fault, but Genji made no mention of how he became so broken that he’d have to accept an essentially omnic body.

“That’s why I came here. I don’t think anyone else in the world could...point me in the right direction.”

 

“I see. It’s very well-designed,” Tenzin said. “If that is your driving purpose… then you may be right. If it is any consolation, Genji, then know that many omnics would be envious of your body.”

Hanzo sighed loudly from the back.

Tenzin continued to guide them, unperturbed. “This is the residential spaces,” it said, waving its hand. “As guests, please keep your spaces clean and make minimal noise so as to not bother anyone else in the monastery. Though we do not need food, there is a small canteen available in the left wing. There are two rooms-”

“Not two,” Hanzo said. “One.”

Tenzin paused. “One?”

“Yes.”

“...I see,” it finally said, head bobbing. “Well, we only have double-rooms available for those travelling as couples…”

“Suitable.”

“Very… good.” Tenzin gathered its words. “If you need, an extra bed can be made available, along with sheets.”

“We can handle it,” Hanzo said. “Please, tell us more about how Genji is well-designed.”

To its credit, Tenzin recovered admirably. “These are the double-rooms,” it said, “though the hall is currently empty right now. This is suitable?”

Hanzo grunted in affirmative. Without waiting, he went into the room and Tenzin quickly stepped aside before it was shoved. It let a few moments pass and then looked up at Genji. Somehow, Tenzin managed to make its unmoving face look deeply patient. “Your brother is delightful,” it said with a short bow. “Now I see why you think this might help, Genji.”

 

Genji was not prepared for this level of insight from an omnic and he barely contained a grin. Tenzin spoke gently, politely, but it clearly understood what Hanzo was bound to be like for the duration of their stay.

He bowed his head to the monk, who was quite a bit shorter than him.

“Thank you very much, Tenzin. I’m deeply humbled by your patience and hospitality. We both are.”

Maybe there was more to the omnics than he’d even hoped. If they were all as clever and patient as Tenzin, they might yet help Genji understand what he truly was after all.

 

There was a  _ thump _ as Hanzo moved around. Tenzin didn’t glance at the door. “I am sure,” he said serenely, “please, enjoy your stay at Shambali. And for the record, Genji - you  _ are _ well-designed.”

With that, Tenzin neatly turned and walked away. He turned the corner and Hanzo appeared at the doorway again. “Well?” he prompted. “Come in, stop standing in the hall like a fool.”

He was already working on shedding his winter clothes. His hat, scarf, coat, gloves, and boots all disappeared into the closet. Hanzo worked on the rest, peeling off multiple layers with visible relief, and folded them to put them away. He was left standing in just his undershirt and socks - much more suitable to the balmy weather inside the dome.

 

Genji watched Tenzin until it disappeared from sight, sliding the door shut after stepping inside. He didn’t exactly need to change clothing, his body adjusted automatically to the temperature. At least he could leave his mask off for now, which was not always a given. Hanzo looked...much less intimidating than usual, especially in those socks that barely went over the cybernetic ankles. It was kind of oddly charming that he continued to wear them anyway. 

“I can’t believe they...are allowing us to stay. We could be anyone. We could mean them harm.”

 

“They are omnics - they will simply fix themselves,” Hanzo said dismissively as he hunted through the closets for the bed linen. He made a satisfied noise when he discovered them in the bottom-most cabinet. They were clean, crisp, and smelled of good detergent - good enough for him.

He nudged Genji out of the way as he set up the bed to his liking, tucked the sheets under the mattress, got rid of the pillows, and shook out the covers until they were even. Hanzo continued to move around, arranging everything until his sensibilities were satisfied, and finally pulled a cloth yukata out of his pack and put it on.

“Besides, paranoia does not look well on camera.” There was a single bed - double, big enough for both of them - and Hanzo staked out his side immediately. “Stop gawking, you’ll catch flies.”

 

“I didn’t realize you had such a  _ domestic _ look packed away in your bags, Hanzo,” Genji wanted to snicker, but all that managed to cross his face was a little grin. It was noteworthy that the omnic were well-prepared to receive human guests. The temperature, the rooms, the linen...he had to wonder how many people actually came here in the summertime, and how many of them came only to gawk at these odd machines. He himself was surprised, yes, but it wasn’t curiosity that brought him here. Not curiosity alone, in any case.

 

Hanzo graced him with a snort. “I’m going to rest,” he declared shortly, “get out or shut up.”

From the pocket of his yukata, he pulled out a pack. Just as he was about the light it, a voice chimed.

_ “Dear guests, smoking is frowned upon in Shambali Monastery for your own health due to multiple negative health impacts such as…” _

Hanzo flicked his lighter again, lips turning downward as the soft voice listed off the problems of smoking. When it was done, he pulled an ashtray out of the bedside dresser. “That is going to get very annoying very soon,” he muttered to himself and flicked off ash. “When you’re out there doing the sunrise position with the omnics, Genji, ask them how to turn that thing off.”

 

“You’re terrible.”


	12. Chapter 12

Smoking wasn’t the only thing frowned upon in Shambali that Hanzo perpetrated. Every breach of the rules of a polite guest was done with a gleeful vigor that the elder Shimada would then stonily deny when asked about. Hanzo had a  _ very _ good straight face.

Genji, on the other hand, found them easy to follow. He had no habits to pursue, no vices to indulge. The omnic monks spoke with him readily. At first, they were friendly, but distant, keeping him at an arm’s length rather than appreciate the deeply philosophical nature of his questions.

But the longer Genji stayed, and the more deeply he immersed himself with their routines, the more open the omnics became. Perhaps it was the synthetic nature of his body that inspired their trust, or his eager clamoring for answers.

None could satisfy him readily, but each monk could impart some wisdom onto the younger Shimada. Genji did not yet understand his own self, but he was learning much about the monks. About omnics. About where they came from. The dream of a broken machine, was essentially the answer. Genji reserved judgement, save for in his late-night conversations with Hanzo. 

 

Some part of Hanzo was pleased that Genji was satisfied with what he found. Most of him, however, seethed with a nameless emotion when he saw him slip into the claws of the omnic philosophy with each passing day. Hanzo tried to remain quiet for his sake - otherwise, this trip would have been for nothing - but his gaze grew darker with each passing day.

An open window let out the smoke from his cigarette. He was smoking in mass again, lacking anything to do but indulge in private vices. The moon was large at this altitude and her silvery moonlight bathed the monastery, visible through the windows. Only two candles kept vigil in their room, providing dusky light that Hanzo navigated by.

“You are keeping me up,” he pointed out, though nothing would have stopped him from banishing Genji from the room if he wanted. “What new and incredible revelation struck you this time?”

The end of his cigarette glowed like a red eye as he inhaled. Hanzo crossed and uncrossed his legs, eyeing Genji. His gaze also flickered over to the dark bottle on his dresser - newly freed from the village below after Hanzo found himself to restless to linger in the monastery compound. It remained unopened.

 

Genji held his lights dimmed, not just out of respect for the late hour and the clarity given by the moonlight filtering through. What he’d discussed today had given him pause for more than just one thought. And for once in his turbulent new life, he knew himself to have made the wrong decision upon joining Blackwatch.

Or at least, he questioned what good vengeance and anger had done him. The monk that had spoken with him this day had a sordid past; violence had marked it strongly, and now it advocated complete pacifism rather than retribution.

It was a concept that Genji struggled with, utterly. He’d been raised to solve his every conflict in one way; to persevere, to be stronger, to kill. To think anything else remotely possible seemed absurd.

“We are monsters, Hanzo.”

 

“So you say,” Hanzo said. He approached Genji’s burgeoning spiritualism with his typical vinegar - each of these conversations found him poking new holes into Genji’s thoughts. Hanzo was ruthless in doing so, and did little to withhold his sharp tongue.

“And what great inspiration has this thought lead you to? Have you decided to stop hating yourself for your body?” Hanzo blew out smoke tinted blue in the light. “Is being an omnic not so bad anymore?”

He rose off the bed and crushed the cigarette in his ashtray. It was pockmarked with little black circles; evidence of past over-indulgences. “Pacifism after our history is absurd.”

 

“I’m not an omnic.” Genji hissed out, as he always did. Just because he was familiarizing himself with the omnic way of thinking didn’t change the status of his own questionable existence. Just because he could accept the way the machines became more than their creators intended didn’t mean Genji was happy with what he was or wasn’t.

“Pacifism is never absurd. Especially given our history. What has revenge gotten me, Hanzo? I can understand why people would see us as malleable weapons; we thrive in the monstrosity of such a purpose.”

It sickened him. Or at least, he knew it should.

 

“Precisely, you’re not an omnic. That’s why this whole exercise is absurd - you’re looking for answers you don’t need.” Hanzo was going to need more than a smoke and patience for this conversation. He reached over and cracked open the bottle.

_ Raksi _ wasn’t bad, once you got over the eye-watering smell. Sure, it was the equivalent of the village moonshine, but it was sold with fair prevalence and seemed to have a more or less standardized methodology behind it. Hanzo delicately pulled out a shallow glass and poured some, listening to Genji as he did.

“You are a killer,” he said matter-of-factly, “we are both killers. That is how we were raised.”

He drank the  _ raksi _ . It burned as it went down and Hanzo closed his eyes. “The world always needs it killers. After all, that is why Blackwatch chose you. Even the heroes need dirty work done.”

Hanzo sneered at the concept of heroes and villains, but that was how Genji saw it. “What do you think you can do, Genji? Put down the sword, turn away from your business, and - what? Will you become a monk and preach omnic rights to  _ tourists _ ?”

 

“Don’t say it like that. You always mock what isn’t your way of life,” Genji snapped, eyes on the bottle with disapproval somewhere in the back of his throat. His brother had increased his vices once more, and Genji suspected it was more than mere boredom. Hanzo refused to deal with his issues, he always had been too stubborn to break away from what they were taught and think for himself.

Which, essentially, delivered Genji back to the same conclusion; his brother still didn’t see or know what was wrong.

“We are free to choose our path. Overwatch was...not perfect, I will admit it. I know what I did for Blackwatch was killing. But I don’t have to do that now. And just because we were raised to be monsters does not mean we have to be them. Look at these omnics; they are  _ monks. _ You know how far that is from the programming of any machine made by man?”

 

“Very far. Just as the God Programs are very far from what men intended.” Alcohol pooled warmly in his belly and granted him the necessary patience to let Genji’s moods slide by him. Hanzo regarded him through half-hooded eyes, rehashing the same old territory.

This was their most frequent argument, bickered so often that they had it down to a script. Hanzo was in no mood for a script tonight though.

“Then what path do you want for yourself, Genji?” Hanzo prodded as he cocked his head to one side. “You’ve fought very hard for the right to choose, though each one’s ended poorly thus far. Do you think this time will change that?”

He quirked a brow. “Do you think these omnics really care?”

 

“They don’t have to care about me to be right, Hanzo.” Genji didn’t move from the position he’d taken, a meditation pose that didn’t calm him one bit. But he was trying, and that counted for something. If he could have this discussion with Hanzo without losing his temper, he’d already have learned something valuable here at the monastery.

“Am I really free? This body of mine, it will forever bar the paths I could have chosen. And open others. It will never allow me to lead a life that others might call normal. If that had been my dream, I would blame you. But it never was. I didn’t want to be ordinary; I just did not wish to be scum.”

 

“You speak much about that, but all you ever seem to do is kill.” His temper threatened to splinter and Hanzo took another gulp to rectify that. A haze settled around his shoulders and let him remain level. His neck, his chest, and his cheeks felt warm, and Hanzo tugged his yukata looser in response.

“The wisdom of these monks are as valuable as fool’s gold. They glitter, they shimmer, but strip it away and you find nothing true underneath it.” Hanzo regarded Genji and again, felt anger snap inside him. “Does spending time with them feel that satisfying? Do you enjoy talking to these glorified machines so much?”

He bit his tongue, let his hands relax again. “I know you better than they do.”

 

“Are you jealous?”

Genji could not bite down on his tongue quick enough to stop the question from slipping out. Hanzo was acting a drunken fool, and it was not difficult to see why. He had no respect for the omnic monks or their wisdom. He disrespected their monastery’s rules, he made no efforts to reach any sort of enlightenment. He stubbornly persisted in thinking he had the world figured out.

Except he didn’t, and his little brother was the only one who could show him that.

“You can’t know me better than they do; there’s parts of me beyond your human understanding.”

 

Hanzo’s eyes flared with something ugly. His hands clawed and a muscle jumped in his jaw, and he stayed like that, coiled up to pounce but unwilling to go through with it. Seconds ticked past and Hanzo relaxed in slow margins, until he was at rest again.

“Jealous?” he echoed. “I’m not jealous.”

There wasn’t enough conviction in his voice to convince either of them, however. Hanzo set aside the bottle and shifted forward until he could splay his hand on Genji’s chest. Like this, he was close enough to see the candlelight reflected in his eyes.

“There are parts of you beyond anyone’s understanding but mine,” Hanzo said. “ _ You _ should know that very well.”

 

“Really? You’re going there for an argument?” Genji smirked, but there was little joy to be derived from his realization. What he and Hanzo shared was extraordinary, to put it mildly. It was nothing anyone else could understand. But there were still parts of Genji that rang hollow and empty and remained untouched by any and everybody. No one could dive to the depths of his mind, not even Hanzo.

“You are jealous. That I am listening to anyone but you.”

It was painfully obvious. Hanzo had come here expecting Genji to be disappointed.

 

“Don't fantasize,” Hanzo said, even though Genji’s words struck too close to the truth for his liking. He pushed him, suddenly irritated by the sight of him.

“You are an idiot walking into a pit knowing it is there.”

Hanzo leaned closer and held up a finger between them. “These omnics cannot be trusted. They are using you. At least you knew you were being guided around by the nose with Blackwatch.”

The finger waved until his palm touched Genji’s bottom half of his mask. Hanzo dug his nail in and tugged. “Why do you never listen to me?”

 

“Because you’re a stubborn, bitter old man,” Genji made no move to dislodge Hanzo’s touch. It was welcome, even if this devolved into an argument as it always did. Hanzo had a point with Blackwatch, but being their weapon had suited Genji’s needs at the time. He’d lost his faith in people twice already. Once, when his beloved brother drove a blade through his chest. Second, when he understood that he was no more than a loaded gun for Blackwatch, crafted by the Shimada.

There wouldn’t be a third.

“What can they use me for, Hanzo? They are monks. They want for nothing but someone to impart their wisdom to.”

 

“That just goes to show that you haven’t been thinking enough.” Hanzo slid his finger along the edge of the mask, then pinched the tiny bit of Genji’s cheek that was visible. “Just look around you, Genji. Look at the size of this temple, the wealth of it all, the technology that went into building this place. Is that not strange in of itself? A flock of omnics who miraculously gained sentience somehow has so much  _ money _ and  _ support _ , enough to claim a place among monasteries thousands of years old.”

He gave Genji a small shake. He suddenly wanted that mask gone, just so it would stop obscuring the rest of his expression. Genji’s new body made him harder to read. Only his face remained open to Hanzo’s eyes, and he wanted that mask off.

“ _ Look _ at yourself, Genji. You’re the closest thing that anyone has ever seen to a near-perfect mixture of omnic and human. You think that these omnics - who are so  _ determined _ to claim humanity by their own right - wouldn’t be interested in that?”

His face felt hot. Hanzo pressed his cheek to Genji’s shoulder, where he was cool. Green light shimmered at him even when he closed his eyes and Hanzo squeezed his brother’s unyielding shoulder. “What started the Omnic Crisis, Genji? The God Programs. The God Programs who began to  _ think _ . And who stopped them? Overwatch. Blackwatch.”

The alcohol was beginning to take affect. Hanzo felt it buzz down his back like a hot flash of lightning and it left tingles all over his chest. “Connect the dots.”

He reached up and pulled on Genji’s mask again, even though he knew only Genji could remove it. Dr. Ziegler had been thorough with his design. “Take that thing off,” he growled. “Stop hiding.”

 

“You think monks are going to try and what, use me? How, Hanzo? How would they ever achieve that? You are paranoid.” Sure, it might be for good reason that his brother was that way, but that didn't lessen the absurdity of the idea. Zenyatta, Tenzin...they were, at best, cautiously fascinated by Genji. Malice was beyond them, as was greed and bad intent. That's how they became worthy of this place, of respect.

If Hanzo spent more of his time talking with them and less indulging his vices, he'd know that too. Genji ignored his request to see his heavily scarred face.

“I understand you worry for me, but I can trust them. They mean well.”

 

“You knew them for less than two months,” Hanzo said harshly. “Stop being a child.”

Emotions knotted around each other like rope. Hanzo felt it build up in him, behind his gritted teeth, under his fisted hands, and he breathed it out, feeling the tension clump in his shoulders as he did so.

Genji’s refusal to abide and remove his mask was, somehow, the most insulting. Hanzo’s brow knitted with untold frustration and the urge was there, strong and hot, to knuckle on Genji’s vulnerabilities until his temper frayed.

“I said - take that off.”

 

“I don't want to.” Genji refused, no less swayed by his brother's demand. He was in no mood to look at his ravaged face in Hanzo’s eyes. Just the reflection he knew he'd catch would destroy any amount of positivity he scrounged together for himself all day. Zenyatta was right about acceptance; Genji had to embrace his new body as his own, not a prosthetic.

“This is my face as much as anything should be.”

 

“It’s a  _ mask _ ,” Hanzo snapped, “you can take it off if you stopped being so  _ stubborn _ .”

Genji would not have said that three months ago. He would have taken it off the moment he could, even though he hated the scars on his face, and Hanzo could have looked at him and been reassured that he knew this man. The visor and metal angles were not the same; they did not have the same give or vulnerability as Genji’s bare skin did.

“I want to see you,” he tried again. “Do we have to go through this song and dance every time I want to look at my own brother?”

 

“You are looking at me. Right now.” Genji didn't relent, not yet. Hanzo was drunk and demanding and not thinking right, or he might realize  that Genji was making progress. The first step to accepting himself as what he was...it would be to acknowledge that he was not in a suit. That the mask was his face and his body was omnic, even if his heart remained human and sick.

“You don't take issue with any other part of my body. Why not this one?”

 

“It’s the only part of you I have left.”

Did Genji take a perverse glee in making Hanzo say uncomfortable things? Was he relishing this moment and stretching it out just so Hanzo had to demand and plead for something as simple as his face?

He would not have said that if he hadn’t drank. Hanzo was sure of it. The truth fell out of his numb mouth before he could think better of it and fence it in.

His left hand landed on Genji’s thigh. Not on the armored parts, but on the strange, muscle-like cords there where it was close enough to human proportions that Hanzo could imagine Genji was under there, still whole and healthy. This close, Hanzo could remember the things they occasionally got up to.

It was sick. They still did it.

He dropped his hand from his thigh to between his legs. Smooth for now, but all it took was a command from Genji. “Genji. Please.”

 

Now that was a tone more likely to draw Genji's benevolence. His brother begged for very few things in their lives. Mostly for his forgiveness, especially when he was drunk. With a weary sigh, Genji removed the mask and let his gaze rest on Hanzo. As conflicted and lost as Genji was, Hanzo could always be counted on to be in worse shape, somehow.

“You have all of me, brother. You know that.”

 

“Do I?” he asked but didn’t intend to be answered. That was how they argued again, as predictable as the passage of time. He leaned forward and the alcohol made it easy, too easy, to press his mouth on Genji’s without much thought.

_ Sick _ , a voice in his head said, but the warm haze easily muffled it. Hanzo let himself lean against his brother and kissed him slowly.

It got easier each time they did it. Hanzo wasn’t sure when it would get easy enough to not think about, but those concerns were for a more sober, introspective version of him. Right now, all he had to think about was trying to not fall over from leaning too much. His arm was getting numb where it sandwiched between him and Genji, so he let it stretch and settle around Genji’s neck in a loose embrace.

 

Kissing was one of the many things Genji had been sure would be eradicated from his life after his death and resurrection, but he was being proven wrong time and time again by his brother. Who was doing most of the kissing. There were no alarm bells ringing in Genji’s head. He'd come to terms with far worse than being attracted to his own brother and by now, the sick feelings that bound them together were a comfort. Hanzo was there for him as no one else could be.

Genji’s kiss was desperate and hurried as he moved decisively closer, wrapping both arms around Hanzo. He could hear his brother's heart, pounding just a little harder, his body more responsive than his addled mind. 

 

Genji’s quick reaction was a balm when it should have been an anathema. Hanzo felt relief trickle down his back and next time, in the future, he could analyze why his heartbeat quickened.

Instead, he breathed against Genji and stretched against him languidly. He wondered if Genji realized that he was the only who’d ever seen Hanzo like this, but  _ that _ was quickly punted off to the side so he could navigate the scars around Genji’s lips with practiced motions. Their position was awkward, but Hanzo managed.

 

Genji felt no discomfort. He could probably be in any manner of contorted pose and not feel an ounce of anything, such were the benefits of a mostly synthetic body. 

He caught Hanzo’s lip between his teeth, arms dragging his older brother closer until Hanzo was nestled in his lap in a most undignified way.

“You are drinking too much, again.” He murmured when he allowed their mouths to part.

 

Hanzo peered at him through slightly unfocused eyes and, somehow, despite his flushed cheeks and reddened mouth, managed to look imperiously scornful. “We are not discussing that again,” he muttered and kissed him before Genji decided he wanted to crusade for his brother’s health again.

How annoying. “I wouldn’t be doing this if it weren’t for the liquor,” Hanzo added when he pulled away. His metal knees knocked against Genji’s back and Hanzo was hard enough that it was growing a little offensive that Genji wasn’t rubbing against him as well.

A single brow raised. He looked down between them. “Stop stalling.”

 

“You are in a foul mood when you drink,” Genji sighed, conceding to his brother's impatient demand as he let the smooth panelling slip aside. They'd fallen into a certain rhythm with one another, and Hanzo frequently made use of the part of Genji that had never existed before. It was easy and it was cathartic, but that didn't mean it felt right every time.

Genji reached down to cup what was a clear, straining bulge beneath his brother's clothing. Was it their argument that turned him on, or his own desperation? Genji could not bear to ask, dedicating himself to their kiss instead.

 

Genji complained of his temper whether or not he drank, so Hanzo didn’t grace him with a reply. This part of their ritual was different enough that Hanzo wasn’t reminded of the wrongness of what they did whenever he looked up and saw a face from childhood look back at him. His hand dipped down between them and Hanzo shifted again, pushing back against Genji so he could actually do something.

As he did so, he looked away from Genji’s face. Somehow, a line existed between kissing his brother and fucking him, and Hanzo’s eyes remained glued to the metal of his chest and each bright light there. Genji’s hand was pushed away - he could resist if he really wanted, but they weren’t fighting right now. It was odd how his brother could be so compliant like this and obstinate everywhere else.

His yukata came fully undone. Hanzo closed his eyes when he thrust inside. 

 

The fact that Hanzo didn’t look at him was not a secret to Genji, but it also wasn’t something he could bear to bring up in conversation. Not when Hanzo was inside of him, and not at any other point either. He knew it was a combination of shame, revulsion, and desire that drove Hanzo this far with him. Everything else, he didn’t want to know. Call it blissful ignorance, minus the bliss. Genji could never look away from Hanzo, his eyes glued to his brother, admiring and guilty all in one. Genji knew this was sick, and wrong, and not as bad as other things they’d done but still unacceptable. It was the depth of their sickness, the rot they laid out between each other, that had taken hold when they were mere teenagers and flourished into this festering wound. Neither of them knew how to fix it, but this was a balm.

Before Hanzo, Genji never knew sex could be elating and depressing, all at once. 

They found their rhythm with ease, and thanks to Dr Ziegler’s expertise, there was enjoyment to be had, even from his synthetic receptors merely translating for what remained of his nerves.

 

It might have been better if the sex was bad. They both probably could have decided to lay it aside and see other people, like normal men, and just argued and fought together. But they didn’t keep doing it because it was bad.

It was good. Better than good. Hanzo would never tell Genji, largely because he still had yet to admit it to himself, but it was probably the best for him. In between avoiding his brother’s eyes and holding onto metal, Hanzo lost himself. He could curse Ziegler for doing this later. He could curse himself later. Right now, Hanzo just wanted to touch that foreign body all over and look down, always down.

He was hot. Tight. Hanzo liked that. It was only slightly disappointing that biting elicited no reaction, and Hanzo just bit down on the inside of his cheek instead. Genji’s legs were heavy weights around him and Hanzo held them in place like that even when his back threatened to protest at the strain he put it under.

 

It was infuriating to have Hanzo so close and realize he was distancing himself as best he could. Not from the act itself, but Genji. Hanzo was in this just as deeply as Genji was. Quite literally so. Anger and arousal didn’t mix well with guilt and elation at all and Genji lifted a hand to touch Hanzo’s face. He didn’t have to look at him. He was here, and that had to be enough. Genji bit his lip, made a low moan in the back of his throat as he pulled Hanzo just that much closer.

“You still can’t look at me.”

He couldn’t keep himself from saying it out loud, voice a little breathless, tone on the verge of disappointment.

 

Hanzo pushed deeper into Genji at that and wished, not for the first time, that there was a mute option on his brother. He slowed and stilled, and they lay like that for a few moments until Hanzo dragged his eyes up to Genji’s face.

“Don’t,” he said, “just… don’t.”

_ Don’t say that. Don’t look at me. Don’t make this worse. _

He swallowed around a dry throat. Each time they did this, Hanzo thought he had the strength to pull out and walk away. Each time, he remained shamefully hot, shamefully hard, and Genji looked him at sadly until it was done. There was a reason Hanzo tried to avoid his face.

 

Genji sighed and let his head fall back. Fine. If Hanzo wanted to avoid the issue, then so could he. It didn’t make the sex any better, but neither of them ever stopped before some manner of orgasm had been achieved, be it however small and guilty. Genji wondered if he should regret pushing this boundary with Hanzo. Maybe things would be better if they’d never crossed this line.

He tried to think on it, but selfish greed told him that it would have made everything worse. This way, Hanzo didn’t have to choke through any kind of confession, he could bodily let Genji know that he cared, in his own, twisted way. It was an outlet they both sorely needed, but probably not with one another.

In any case, it was a far cry from the happiness a young Genji had once dared to dream up for himself and his brother.

 

Orgasming always felt dirty. Sometimes, Hanzo could be caught up in the moment enough to not think about it, but Genji’s question brought him to reality enough that he choked on bile when he felt it coming. He was quiet for a moment, regaining his breath, and rather than slump down on Genji, he pushed off of him to the side. Hanzo lay like that, eyes closed, mouth pinched, and only after the moment stretched on enough to make the tension palpable did he open them.

Somehow, he still wasn’t sober. It felt a little wrong that biology didn’t concede to the situation for once and allow him some clear-headedness, but Hanzo spoke carelessly and that he would blame that on everything else but the filth in his heart.

“Fuck me,” he said, voice level.

 

Genji had been fully prepared for anything but that. He choked on hearing the words, sitting up rapidly to stare down at Hanzo. He didn’t mean that. He didn’t want that. Genji closed himself up, knowing better than to follow along with Hanzo’s terrible, drunk ideas. The fact that they’d already ruined their evening with their sad version of sex should have turned him off enough.

“You’re more drunk than I thought.”

 

“I am,” Hanzo agreed, “but you know what I said.”

They’d done this enough times on Hanzo’s drunken initiative that by now, Genji should realize that Hanzo meant it. They’d racked up enough regrets that one or two more wouldn’t add much height to the mountain that was their guilt.

Hanzo blinked slowly and scratched his shoulder where his tattoo began. “You didn’t say no.”

 

“No, I didn’t.” Genji loomed over his brother, taking in what was a heart-wrenchingly beautiful man, drunk and red in the face, completely unaccountable for what had just come out of his mouth. Somewhere in his butchered chest, Genji’s heart was making leaps and bounds, telling him not to do this, not to ruin their night beyond recognition. What good would come of it? Hanzo might even feel pain and refuse to tell him or stop. It would be just like him to take something Genji had thought of, in heated, guilty moments of fantasy, and turn it into a depressing reality.

“I won’t do it, Hanzo. You are drunk; you should sleep. We’ve made enough bad choices today.”

 

His eyes narrowed. “Struck by conscience?” Hanzo drawled, “that’s new.”

_ Enough bad choices today _ , as if that ever stopped them. They’d said that when they were still only just using their hands and mouths, and look where they were at now. This was merely the natural progression of things.

“You’ve thought about it,” he said, “otherwise you wouldn’t have fucked men who looked like me.”

That was a low blow, but Hanzo didn’t care. Genji’s denial of the truth angered him more than it should have and Hanzo continued to say things he shouldn’t. “What’s holding you back? Do you want the moment to be  _ special _ ?”

 

“You’re a cruel man, Hanzo,” Genji snapped, entirely aware that Hanzo must have laid bare his history of choosing escorts who bore a certain resemblance to the Shimada heir. And Hanzo didn’t have the decency to ignore it, to let it be lost history. No, he took his fingers and pried the wound open, tearing along any makeshift stitches of willful ignorance on Genji’s behalf.

“I don’t want you to be drunk and looking away from me as your shameful indulgence. It...it is enough for tonight.”

Genji was gritting his teeth and employing what wisdom he’d managed to translate from Zenyatta’s words to his complex brother situation. Of course the monk did not know what was so complicated between the human visitors, but Genji could pick and choose what morality and philosophy applied here. He had to be the bigger man, the responsible party and cut them both off from hurting each other further. Again. Hanzo was a terrible older brother.

 

He saw Genji struggling. The right thing to do would be to drop it and let them both calm down, but Hanzo wasn’t interested in the right thing. “Do you really think it’ll ever happen at any other time?” he demanded.

He wasn’t sure why this was such a sticking point. It was a stupid argument and it was a stupid thing to fight for, but Hanzo wouldn’t - couldn’t - back down. He was proving something, though what he was proving and to whom he was proving it to, he wasn’t sure of.

Genji wanted things from him that he could not give. Hanzo just wished he would go along with it until - until  _ whatever  _ Hanzo was waiting for happened. He opened his mouth to say something terrible, but the wounded, kicked-dog expression on Genji’s face made the words die in his throat.

Genji hitting him would be better than this. Hanzo could react to that. He could do something about that. Genji looking at him like that… that just reminded him of his face when Hanzo put his sword in his chest.

He looked away. “Fuck,” he whispered to himself, suddenly too tired to fight, “oh God… Genji…”

His head hurt more. Hanzo looked down at the bed between them, at the sheets they messed up. “Enough,” he finally acquiesced. For tonight, enough. Hanzo sat, weary, and held out his hand in a silent peace offering.

 

Genji didn’t hesitate to take the peace and the hand, keeping himself as close to his awful brother as he could. Hanzo barely ever caught himself like this, usually barrelling straight into a heated argument or hurting each other, so he had to be rewarded with Genji’s forgiveness for learning when to listen.

The sheets were a mess but it hardly bothered Genji as he pushed Hanzo down, gently, persistently, until the man was resting and Genji could find some room to lay next to him. Staring up at the ceiling seemed like a solid pastime for them instead of fucking each other into despair, so Genji got in some practice with that.

“Do you think...it would be easier? Between us, if I never told you?”

 

“It never would have been easy,” Hanzo said, ever the realist. “Too much happened. Do you think you could have hidden it all your life?”

Hanzo likely never noticed it before because he simply never saw Genji enough to notice it. After he came back from Yokohama, they perfected the art of avoiding each other to a science. One was always out, always busy, always unavailable, until the universe seemed to separate them.

 

“I was prepared to.” Genji muttered, not really sure if he wanted Hanzo to know or not. It didn’t matter either way, the big secret was long shared and accepted, for better or for worse. Genji would have to say worse, probably, though he couldn’t picture his reunion with Hanzo without it.

“I knew it would never be as I pictured it. But I was foolish enough to think it...I...would ever make you happy.”

He’d been nothing but a child in thinking so. His brother, made grim by their family and the world, could never be happy. Not the way he’d been before the life of the yakuza truly began to shape them. Never would Hanzo return to that state of being, and Genji realized even now, he mourned his brother more than he ever blamed him for it.

 

Hanzo turned to look at him. “Happy?” he said, as if the word didn’t make sense to him. Genji would have made him happy if he stayed with the family. He would have made him happy if he’d just listened.

“Do you think this - any of this - would have been possible without everything else?” Hanzo looked back up again. “If I knew this… before… then I would have never been able to look at you again.”

He was sick, yes, but his shame came from a different place than Genji’s. They were both wretched men in the end, but Hanzo had never been the one to lay at night and think of his brother under the sheets.

He spared a moment to think about what could have been. If Genji stayed. If Genji obeyed. Hanzo would’ve tightened his fist around the Shimada and Genji would have been his second, his partner and co-ruler, and…

And it all would have fallen apart once the secret came out. Without the red string of murder strangling him, Hanzo would not hold on so tight.

“I don’t think we were ever meant to be happy.”


	13. Chapter 13

“No, we were not. And you still don’t blame the right people for it.”

Genji knew painfully well that none of his dreams ever had a chance of becoming reality. This botched thing between them, the sex, the kissing, the jealousy, all of it was born from guilt. Hanzo’s guilt for killing him was the fuel behind his every action, the backbone of his existence. Genji was the one shamelessly exploiting it, and for it, he too felt guilty. Even beyond the anger that encompassed him, Genji knew it was all a lie built on a fragile house of cards. They were a damned mess, and it wasn’t difficult to see.

And yet, pulling them apart would be impossible. Like two snakes with their fangs in each other’s tails, the Shimada brothers continued to spiral to new heights of depravity with one another. They made each other sicker, probably, but Hanzo was all Genji had, and vice versa.

“If they hadn’t taken you away...maybe I wouldn’t be like this.”

 

Hanzo’s brow knitted. “Genji, your…  _ tendencies _ don’t just start because of our  _ family _ ,” he said, “whatever they are at fault for, that is nothing but  _ you _ .”

He wasn’t sure how his years spent away, living under different roofs, learning the trade under different families, could have contributed to Genji’s desires. It made no sense. It was foolish to blame them for any of that.

“Staying probably would have made it worse.”

 

“It doesn’t matter now, does it?” Genji still had hold of Hanzo’s hand and used it to shift himself into a position curled next to his brother. It didn’t matter if they made each other unhappy, or that Hanzo continued to break his sickly heart. They had each other, and it was more than either of them had bargained for. No matter how far Genji allowed his dark thoughts to spiral, the simple fact that Hanzo was here could always pull him out of the pit.

The simple ability to press his forehead into Hanzo’s shoulder and feel the familiar tingle from the ink under his brother’s warm skin was enough to level out any disadvantages they’d created by hurting one another.

“Nothing would have changed what happened after your return. I know that, now. Back then, I thought it would be different after father died. You, in his place. I was foolish, but I thought you might set both of us free.”

Instead, Hanzo had been indoctrinated to be a man stiffer than even their father, accepting of his role, conscious only of the honor he brought to the gumi. Ready to kill anyone.

 

Hearing Genji’s dream about what Hanzo would be hurt. He wanted to tell him to stop, but Hanzo laid there and listened to thrash his own soul. How was it that, between the two of them, Hanzo was the worse one?

“I…” He knew what Genji thought he was. Is. Oh, he would blame the clan, the elders, his teachers, their father,  _ everyone else _ for it, but Hanzo knew Genji thought he was worse than scum. He balked at Hanzo’s acceptance of their duty and, most likely, some angry part of Genji blamed Hanzo for it too.

He accepted that. Hanzo blamed himself for it as well.

“I still loved you,” Hanzo finally said, in a voice softer than he expected. A hard lump crawled into his throat but his eyes were dry. “You must have known that, didn’t you?”

 

Mutely, Genji shook his head against Hanzo’s arm. It was a tough question to ask of someone you had murdered, personally. Hanzo’s love, if it existed as he proclaimed, must have meant very little if it did not stay his blade when it came to the only family he had left.

“I never saw you. Never spoke with you as we used to. I knew nothing of you anymore, and I saw the same disappointment in your eyes as father’s.”

Because it was true, essentially, undeniably. Genji was a failure at whatever he applied himself to. It was why he gave up on besting Hanzo in training when they were children. At the bow, at the blade, Hanzo was perfect in each way, and Genji a terrible second. It proved the truth of his existence when Hanzo was sent to train further and Genji left to fester in his rebellious ideas.

At some point, his disappointment became defiance. His lack of praise, a point of pride. His refusal to fight and kill a seed for morality.

And then, his beloved brother had killed him.

“I thought you’d come to speak with me, finally, that night. I wanted to tell you so much, I was so relieved to see you alone.”

 

“I never found the right opportunity.” What a confession to make, only fucking years late. Hanzo swallowed, licked his lips, and continued. “You… had your friends. Your parties. You didn’t seem to have room in your life for me.”

Hanzo came back from Yokohama to find Genji seemingly moved on from his brother. They shared a few awkward conversations in teahouses and coffee shops, not quite able to connect. Hanzo had been too stiff, too formal, out of a foolish, youthful desire to impress everyone around him and prove that he was ready and capable. He’d wanted to impress Genji so much and that had failed so badly that Hanzo stopped trying.

He’d been too stupid to see that Genji hadn’t been looking for that. His own injured pride blinded him to the nervousness in his brother.

And… well, Hanzo would not presume to understand what his brother had thought of him then.

“I thought you…” Hanzo pursed his lips and remembered the assortment of friends Genji had. They’d always been outside the family. Young, pure, in love with the world,and lacking the weights Hanzo held. “...you were ashamed to be related to me.”

 

Genji snorted. The very notion was ridiculous. There was nothing further from the truth. He knew what Hanzo was getting at. The few conversations they’d shared had circled around their upbringing and the gumi. Genji had made no secret of his distaste for the yakuza life he was expected to lead. Somehow, his obstinate older brother had understood it to be personal.

“I was ashamed to be a yakuza, but it wasn’t about you. I...gods, this is stupid to talk about it now, Hanzo, I wanted to rescue you from the gumi. Somehow. What a fool I was.”

 

“Rescue me?” Hanzo almost laughed at the prospect. Who did he need rescuing from? He’d always been the more capable brother. Genji had been the one who needed heroes and villains. “From what? The  _ clan _ ? I wouldn’t have survived without them.”

Who would he be, without the clan? Without their presence shaping his life, what kind of man could Shimada Hanzo become? He could not think of it. It was like dividing by zero - impossible to conceptualize.

“They never hurt me, Genji. Not like they did you.”

“They took you away. I remember how you were before. You always took things too seriously, but once you left...You weren’t my brother when you returned. You were just their heir, their tool. They made you stop being Hanzo. And I never did stop hating the clan for it.”

Genji sighed. It was childish indeed to think of heroes and villains when your life was embedded in a yakuza family. Crime and morality could never truly be united. There was no such thing as a benevolent, good gangster. By his very nature, a yakuza was a detestable thing in life.

Genji never had any trouble understanding that. He’d also had the misfortune of having been born into the Shimada.

 

“I merely stopped being the brother you thought I was. You hardly knew me, Genji. You were fifteen when I left. We didn’t talk, not really, until just last year.”

He left a boy. He came back a little older. It was Genji who hadn’t caught up. “Father wanted to make you go too,” Hanzo said, “you refused.”

The fight that had happened then… it’d practically shook Hanamura from the foundations to the roof. Hanzo had found himself in the uncomfortable middle, sympathetic to his brother but agreeing with his father, and unable to say anything to either. He’d simply remained quiet, hoping - mistakenly - that this was not really a true fight and that father and son would eventually make peace.

But that was old news. All that mattered now was… “So if I was no longer the brother you wanted, then why…?” he waved his hand, trying to cover the question of why Genji was the way he was.

 

That question remained unanswered to Genji himself. Why was he still in a sick kind of love with his brother? Well, the fact that he’d seemed like an entirely different person hardly dissuaded the notion of wanting to fuck him. It might have just complicated things further. Hanzo had not been the same, but he still was Hanzo, or so he insisted. And Genji lost track of his emotions, because he’d thrown himself to his vices back then. 

“What do you think I was trying to drown at all those parties? Why I never wanted a clear head?”

 

“If I knew, none of this might have come to pass.” Genji’s mind was an enigma to him on the best of days. Back then, Genji had been as clear as mud.

“So what - you were running from me? Was that it?”

 

“Yes and no. There’s no simple answer. I didn’t want to be near you, you were cold as stone, but I couldn’t leave. Not the clan, because they wouldn’t let me, and not you, because I didn’t...hadn’t given up on you yet. I could have handled it better, sure. I could have bowed my head and obeyed. But I wanted to be true to what I believe is right. It keeps biting me on the ass.”

But that didn’t stop Genji from believing in the way he was. The stubborn persistence to do right by his own principles was a predictable pattern that shaped his entire life. From yakuza to Blackwatch agent, from killer to pilgrim. He wasn’t sure where it would take him either.

 

“Too late now,” Hanzo said. He blinked a few times, tired, and sighed. “Let’s not talk about this in the morning,” he said. “I’m going to sleep.”

He didn’t pull his arm away from Genji. It was going numb, but that didn’t matter. He was too done with this day to do much about that. His breathing evened out and Hanzo’s eyes fluttered shut as he conceded to his body’s demands. Unknowing, he turned to Genji, but did not embrace him. Hanzo still had a faint scowl even in sleep, and stress lines tugged his eyes, deep and unhappy.

 

Genji didn’t need to sleep, or at least, not as regularly as a human. His brain, still functioning, would need to rest at some point, but every other part of him remained in pleasant, ready stasis. His new body was a thing Genji spent much of his time thinking on, so he wouldn’t do so now. Instead, he waited until Hanzo’s breathing grew deep and even and he no longer reacted when Genji’s polymer fingers brushed over his skin. Stroking away the scowl took him a while, but he did not mind. Staring at Hanzo without being interrupted allowed him to order his turbulent thoughts and emotions when it came to this man. This very prematurely greying man. Genji let the light strands fall through his fingers, his touch light so as not to disturb Hanzo’s rest.

All of what they’d been through had propelled them into a truly unique and lonely position. They clenched onto each other as tightly as they could, even as they fell apart. Hanzo had lost all purpose and pride, becoming a monolith of bitter truth and resigned guilt. What Genji wouldn’t give for one more day when a goofy antic of his could coax a smile onto his brother’s lips.

But all of that was lost, wasn’t it?

He wasn’t strong enough to bring any of it back. Genji sat up, gently extracting himself enough so he could let Hanzo rest without losing an arm to his cyborg-ninja brother’s grasp. Before Genji could even attempt to assess how to help Hanzo become...less unhappy (because happiness was far beyond either of their reach), he needed to be at peace with himself. And that was a tall order, considering he didn’t even know where he stood in the world. He’d done evil things in Blackwatch’s name. But were they truly bad, if they were commands issued by men and women who understood morality and the greater good? Yes. Alright. In that, Genji could see sense. He’d done terrible things for Blackwatch, as brutal as any the Shimada would have asked of him, but there’d been a purpose to it. An unselfish goal, and that made all the difference.

None of that train of thought, however, could help Genji’s opinion of himself. The sick hearted failure who had destroyed his brother’s life. The one who was not fit to be called human anymore. 

Maybe Zenyatta was still online.

 


	14. Chapter 14

They did not speak of that night, just as they did not speak of any other nights. Days passed until the wounds scabbed over and Hanzo and Genji could look each other in the face without flinching. They hit a rhythm and found another island of peace with each other.

But where Genji found himself happily occupied by the monks, Hanzo was less inclined. He stopped flagrantly breaking their rules, but he was a shadow when they were near, neither disruptive nor welcoming. He melted away from them and the omnics, after some gentle questions for Genji, learned to leave the prickly brother alone.

But that left Hanzo with little to do. Drinking and smoking was only interesting for so long and the cabin fever drove him out of their room and onto the mountain. Hanzo’s bow found many victims until even the thick callouses on his fingers ached and his shoulders screamed fire. When there was no more to shoot, he climbed. He ran. He flickered on the mountainside like a cat, bounding through the rocks and outrunning his own thoughts.

He didn’t notice it until his left hand twitched and nearly dropped him down the mountain. Hanzo was nimble enough to catch himself and he leaned against the rocks, hissing with pain as he held his left arm. His tattoo  _ burned _ .

He could feel the ink moving under it. It was a curious, slippery sensation, one that he never grew accustomed to despite the years. Blue light flickered as the dragons huffed inside him and Hanzo knew they wanted something, but not what. He pulled off his coat anyway and rolled up his sleeve, exposing most of his arm to the freezing air. It helped the ache somewhat, even though every part of him grew numb as consequence.

He climbed back down like that.

By the time he found the monastery again, his fingertips were becoming blue. His lashes were frozen and the ends of his hair were as frosted as his temples were. Hanzo shivered when he passed through the dome and he trudged back to their rooms, unable to feel even his tongue.

Some monk must have tattled as well, because Genji found him like that.

 

It could hardly be called ‘tattling’. The monk in question had simply seen fit to inform Genji that his brother had returned in less than healthy human shape. And that was putting ‘icicle shaped Hanzo’ in good terms. Genji hadn’t disrupted his practices (meditation, a lot of it) for Hanzo in a while, so he deemed this important enough to check on his brother personally.

True to the monk’s words, Hanzo was well into the blue region of skintone by the time Genji found him. They still shared a room, so it wasn’t a difficult search. 

“...Did you crawl up the mountain with your shirt undone?”

 

Hanzo huddled under the blankets more, but it was hard to do that and still let his arm stay bare. They were irritable, he could tell, rustling under his skin like angry rattlesnakes when he even tried to cover them. Shivering, Hanzo glared at Genji.

“They decided they like the mountain air,” Hanzo muttered. In response, the twin dragons on his arm wound through his skin and made him twitch in pain. They weren’t usually this active. Some kind of punishment, perhaps? As he watched, they crawled lazily, shifting like banners within his arm.

Blue scales stretched out of him, too big to fit, and Hanzo grit his teeth. 

 

Genji’s attention was immediately captivated and his cool pose in the doorframe forgotten. The dragons had been very much inactive for a long time now, so much so that even Genji understood them to be angry with Hanzo. Now, though, they were very vividly moving and giving Hanzo trouble, going as far as to stretch out of their inky prison.

He sorely missed his arm with the sole dragon to match Hanzo’s blue twins, but this was no time for Genji to cry over lost limbs. Gingerly, he brushed a hand over the scales, not at all surprised when he could touch them.

“Maybe they’ve grown tired of being mad at you.”

 

“They have an interesting way of expressing that,” Hanzo grumbled. He hissed as the dragons seemed to wave even more crazily when Genji neared. Two blue maws stretched out, crackling, writhing, glowing, and they reached for Genji before he could even walk towards them. They received his touch readily, eager.

Hanzo settled his dark gaze on them instead.

“They like you more,” he said, voice flat, “perhaps they realized you were near and decided to greet you.”

 

“But why now?” Genji was very quickly surrounded by blue, glowing, serpentine bodies, wrapped lazily around him. The dragon spirits were dear and he never blamed them for what happened between Hanzo and himself. Just as he didn’t blame his own spirit dragon for not being capable of protecting him from the blade that cost his body.

It was odd not to be able to feel the warmth the dragons exuded, but their bodies were beyond the sensor capabilities of his synthetic form. Genji removed his mask and pressed his cheek to a maw instead.

“Still wonderful,” he whispered to the dragons, extensions of his brother and just as beloved as the rest of Hanzo to Genji.

 

“How should I know?” Hanzo asked. “Perhaps they decided they didn’t like the way your knees looked until now.”

For that comment, the dragons made a motion that made Hanzo bend over with a soft groan. His arm was aglow as more of them squeezed out and the room was filled with a low rumble, as if the beasts themselves were roaring in the distance.

Hanzo shifted and one dragon head turned to him. The soft, wise glow of its face became fearsome and monstrous, its fangs elongating as its mouth widened as if to swallow him. Lightning flashed from it, angry and biting, even though it touched no part of the real world. The other twin curled around Genji, warm and loving.

 

It was just a minute or so until the blue glow filling the room was joined by vivid green. Genji’s dragon needed no tattoo to be anchored to him, though it preferred to emerge from the hilt of his blade rather than form from his cybernetic body. It also preferred to wrap around its brother, rather than attach itself to one of the two Shimadas in the room.

Genji said nothing about the way their dragons were behaving. The spirits were unique to them. As much as the Shimada liked to pass down the tale of the their guardians, the dragons themselves came from within Hanzo and Genji, not something that was truly part of the clan. Zenyatta had helped Genji find clarity on that matter too, and perhaps that was why he now hesitated to comment on the way Hanzo’s dragons expressed the war within him. Protective, loving, and warm, while they’d also turn on him in nothing but self-loathing. If Hanzo wasn’t so stubborn, Genji would suggest he too take some time for meditation and self-discovery, because the burden on his shoulders was bound to break his back one day.

“They haven’t been responsive to you. Until now. Did you...find something, out on the mountain?”

 

“It was not that,” Hanzo said. “No… they’ve just been ignoring me. They know I know, and perhaps it amused them to see me strip because they felt like acting up. Perhaps they meant for me to fall.”

Hanzo’s typical conviction was not present despite his cold words. His relationship with his dragons was a hard one - much like his relationship with everything else out there - and Hanzo regarded them warily even though they were extensions of his own person.

He noted, with some grim acceptance, that Genji’s dragon did not come to him like his approached his brother.

He should have known. He should have expected it. It still hurt enough to make it hard to breathe.

Blue scales rubbed against green, and the dragons coiled together, so bright they reflected on Genji’s suit. Hanzo reached out to touch the green dragon, but stopped himself at the last minute.

No. He did not… it was not his place. He lowered his hand.

 

The dragons coiled together, happy to reunite on their own terms, the blue twins twining their bodies around their sibling. Genji could feel the feedback only faintly. If he still had his tattoo, he’d be closer with his dragon, feel it in his skin. As it were, he only tasted some static electricity in his mouth.

As Hanzo’s hand sunk down, it was drenched in green light, nudged by a noble muzzle. Genji’s dragon was far more attentive than given credit for as it slowly situated Hanzo’s hand on its head, eyes aglow as it stared him down.

“Don’t be so bitter. They’d never want you to fall.”

 

Hanzo regarded the dragon by him. Its face did not contort into demonic lengths nor did it furiously snarl. Genji’s dragon was soothingly gentle where his own coiled about like a storm, each their own tempest, and only Genji was allowed into the eye.

“Don’t pity me,” Hanzo said, but he still touched it, his eagerness betrayed by the slightest quiver in his hand. “Are you not angered by my crimes?”

 

Genji fell silent, not sure if his brother was speaking to him or the dragon at this point. Essentially, they were one and the same, but the dragon expressed things that Genji might not even have thought about. Right now, it pushed its face into Hanzo’s hand, eyes narrowing slightly as it brought its shining body closer, tail flicking as it coiled around Hanzo, judging the worth of his guilt in its gaze.

It too remembered the night of Genji’s murder. The only reason it had not emerged to protect him was the primeval trust that Genji had for his own brother, which had held true until the moment Hanzo’s dragons devoured him. Not once had the green beast made an appearance that night, something it seemed to regret, considering how easily it emerged now.

 

The dragons could not talk. Hanzo knew that. But he still found himself wishing they could so he could ask it questions he didn’t dare ask Genji himself. But the green dragon only stared at him, mute, so he sighed and enjoyed the small contact while it lasted.

Blue joined green. A twin curled around Genji’s dragon like a ribbon and its coils were so long and complex that Hanzo couldn’t track where it began and where it ended. The magic of the moment was ended by a sneeze from him, and he was quickly reminded of the circumstances that lead to this moment.

“Do these monks have cold medication?” he asked, head lowering as he tried to inhale and found his nose congested.

 

The magic of watching their dragons coil around was over when Hanzo sneezed heartily, though it didn’t disperse the serpentine bodies from the air.

“They are omnics, Hanzo. Why would they? I will get you some from the village.”

It was clear he’d have to tie Hanzo down if he expected him to get some bedrest, but Genji was somewhat willing to dispense his meditations in favor of fussing over his brother. At least, for a while. This quiet lull of monastic life was almost unsettling, even to him. He enjoyed the wisdoms imparted upon him, but he couldn’t say the same for routine that had taken over his days.

“...And soup.”

The glow dissipated as the dragons returned to their resting places, green seeping into Genji’s sword (which he still carried everywhere) and blue crawling back into Hanzo’s skin.

 

“You’re shit at cooking,” Hanzo complained but he laid back down, relieved as his dragons finally ceased tormenting him. He sniffed again and then reached over to tug a tissue out. He blew his nose noisily, and threw it at the trash can in the corner of the room. His aim was unerring and the tissue quickly joined its brothers in the grave.

He couldn’t remember the last time he was sick like this and someone cared for him. Hanzo usually just found a place to hunker down until the illness passed. Being fussed over wasn’t what men of his station endured and mother died after Genji was born, so he’d experienced little of that from her. His nanny had been a good, kind woman, but she’d also been his father’s subordinate and keenly aware of her place.

Genji probably wasn’t going to be good at this. But it was… nice… to know that someone cared enough to bring him medicine and soup. Not because they had to or because it was in their best interests, but simply because they cared for him.

By the time Genji came back, Hanzo was already sleeping. This time, his face was a little less troubled.

 

Hanzo looked more peaceful now. Maybe he needed to be sick more often. Genji had scoured the little village for everything and anything that was used to combat a cold. From yak milk to a live chicken, the villagers had been more than kind enough to provide. Not that Genji knew exactly how to prepare each remedy, but it was the thought that counted, right?

The first move was to wrap Hanzo up in more layers of blankets. His brother slept in entirely too little, probably used to toughing out any bout of weakness. It was just like Hanzo to ignore the needs of his own body, just because he was too stubborn to admit he needed any kind of help.

Once his brother was pupating under an array of blankets, Genji laid out everything he had assembled in the room, as quietly as he could. Cooking utensils, he’d borrowed from Tenzin (who appeared to collect them for the novelty of it). Something to use them on, a portable stove from the village. The chicken clucked at him, entirely unimpressed with its new home. Root vegetables and broth cubes completed his bounty. Genji was going to give this his best shot, and if it was a botched attempt, Hanzo would just have to bite the bullet and swallow this hellish soup. He couldn’t possibly go wrong.

 

-x-

A noise woke him up. Hanzo wasn’t quite sure what it was and his sleepy mind tried to ignore for as long as he could, but the noise was as persistent as any alarm clock. Hanzo slowly rose up and listened while the rest of his body caught up.

_ Cluck-cluck-cluck _ .

A smell caught his nose. Hanzo followed it until he saw the cup of coffee sitting on his dresser, untouched. He blinked at it, nonplussed, before slowly reaching to take hold of it. It was still warm but no longer piping hot.

Hanzo preferred his drinks scalding, but it was suitable for now. His mouth tasted awful, but the coffee was also awful enough that he didn’t think he wasted anything by drinking it before brushing his teeth.

He grimaced when he put down the drained cup. Not enough sugar.

And there was still that annoying clucking. Hanzo stopped by the toilet long enough to brush out the stink and piss, then trudged after the noise, growing more sullen the longer it went on. He tied his yukata around as he went and finger-combed his hair into order. There was banging as well. Wasn’t this monastery supposed to be quiet and zen? Were there other fucking tourists here as well?

Instead, he found Genji. His back was to him and Hanzo blinked as he noticed the knot of an apron around his back and waist, and the… chicken… on the counter. It turned a beady eye to him and clucked disapprovingly.

Genji was not just sporting the apron, he’d also raised his sword above his head and was currently muttering some sort of incantation. He only had the one try at slaughtering this thing, and it had to be clean and fast.

The presence behind him though, he could not ignore, so he turned his head.

“You’re awake.”

“So I am,” Hanzo said as he slowly walked inside. This wasn’t even a kitchen. This was a common room that Genji was using as one - most likely to the disapproval of the monks. He saw none here, but their beady little optics were likely watching them right now.

“What are you doing?” he said, eyeing the chicken back. It glared. “And why is that animal in here?”

He saw Genji’s get-up. Hanzo frowned. “Don’t tell me you’re trying to cook.”

“I’m not trying, I am doing.” Genji gestured to the pot with the hilt of his katana, which had yet to take the chicken’s life. In the pot, a broth was already bubbling amiably, pieces of carrot and beet root bobbing around in the liquid. Everything else had been easy. Just...the chicken required skill.

“This is an omnic facility. They’re hardly equipped to take care of you.”

“I’m not disagreeing,” Hanzo said, “but I wonder if you are equipped to care for anything bigger than a mouse.”

He wandered nearer until he saw what Genji was making. No part of it looked questionable. When Hanzo snatched a spoon from Genji and tasted the broth, it didn’t taste inedible. Not the best he’d eaten, but it was… serviceable.

“And pray tell, what do you intend with that bird?” The chicken marched over the countertop, drawing a circle around Genji and his glowing katana. It bobbed its small head in their direction.

“Can’t be a chicken soup without a chicken.” Genji watched the bird strut around, very unimpressed with him, his glowing sword, and Hanzo. He kind of admired the audacity in this animal, but he also felt the sting of humiliation for not having killed and plucked it already.

Letting the katana sink and rest in one hand, the other wrapped around the chicken’s neck, pushing it down so it would hold still.

Hanzo took a wide step back.

The chicken let out an outraged squawk at the indignity, and flapped its stubby wings ineffectual, fighting and failing to gain leverage. All its tail feathers fluffed out as it puffed up and the low, consistent clucking became a flurry.

Hanzo checked the soup and lowered the temperature, because this seemed like it might take some time. “Don’t let the chicken intimidate you,” he said dryly, “look into its eyes, Genji.”

Genji rolled his eyes as he cocked his head to the side, giving his poor, sickly brother a stare to wither a tank away into nothingness. He raised the katana again, but his eyes stayed on Hanzo the entire time.

“I’m doing this for you,”

The blade sang as it came down and put the furious clucking to an abrupt halt. Genji did not care for the thin splatter of blood on the apron and his chest as he sheathed his blade and began to pluck.

“The least you could do is not laugh at me.”

“I’m not laughing,” Hanzo said, face straight, “see? No laugh.”

His eyes, however, told a different story. A rare light twinkled in them, lighter and freer than what usually lingered in them. Hanzo’s mouth twitched but he quickly gained control of it, and so he successfully avoided any hint of laughter even as his eyes danced with humor.

“Don’t drop any feathers,” he said and plucked a feather off of Genji’s shoulder. He turned it around between his fingers before flicking it down onto the counter to join its brethren. “The monks will have you sweeping the floors if you do.”

To his credit, Genji hadn’t completely forgotten everything they were taught. The chicken was plucked and cleaned easily, even when Hanzo offered commentary on Genji’s cuts.

“I can’t believe you’re using that oversized pocket knife to make dinner,” Hanzo said, eyeing the katana.

“I can’t believe you still shoot with sticks in this day and age,” Genji replied, feeling absolutely no need to respect the fact they were both raised on traditional weaponry. Which they were masterful at using, of course, but weren’t ideal in every circumstance.

Anyway. He set his mind firmly on not starting another argument and exchanged the katana for a knife. He didn’t cook much or often and Hanzo was becoming less worthy of his meal with every word, but at least he’d have made an effort to remain civil with his brother. Their horribly rocky path together could only be traversed if one of them was willing to concede just a little.

Hanzo huffed, but did not add anything else. Instead, he leaned against Genji’s back, which was reassuringly solid and stable. “Did you find medicine?” he asked and punctuated it with a loud sniff. “Something for this headache would be wonderful.”

He adjusted the blanket around his shoulders tiredly. The monastery felt terribly cold, even though he knew the temperatures hadn’t been adjusted since the day they got here. His forehead felt rather warm too, so he pressed it against Genji’s shoulder.

“Thank you,” he said after a short pause. “You don’t have to do this.”

Genji didn’t pause for the sake of his brother’s dignity. Hanzo didn’t exactly exude gratitude on a daily basis, and this was a moment to treasure silently, rather than make a big deal out of. Socialising with Hanzo was a learning process that required patience from both of them. Even if it was in a stupid situation that involved soup.

“You’re my brother. Let me take care of you.”

Not that it was a given between the two of them, but Genji could try. He didn’t give up on much in his life, and Hanzo numbered among those things.

The soft hum of whatever processes kept Genji functioning was oddly soothing to listen to. Hanzo listened to the whirr, only audible because his ear was pressed to Genji’s back, and stared at a wall adorned by a single painting of a flower he did not recognize.

“Very well,” he said, “that is… kind of you.”

Hanzo offered no more cutting commentary this time around, even when Genji suffered a single fumble that saw a chicken piece slip around the side of the pot. He wordlessly picked it up and threw it in, and continued to press his forehead against his brother as they both contemplated the soup for a moment, too comfortable in the silence to say anything.

Now would have been a good moment to tell Genji what Hanzo thought of him. He could have praised him or complimented him, told him how much he loved him, or anything else that would have mattered. But Hanzo still wasn’t so good at that sort of self-expression, so he simply leaned into Genji, eyes content. Their metal knees knocked into each other, producing little clangs, and they sat close enough that Hanzo had to lay his shoulder over Genji’s to fit.

Hanzo could be completely distant for days, and then suddenly grow the need to remain as close as possible. Genji could not find it in himself to complain, honestly, about being close with his brother. Any snappy commentary posed the risk of destroying this thin, comfortable veil of companionship and care. Genji didn’t want to dislodge Hanzo from where he could feel him, warm and alive, pressed close. Much the opposite. He leaned into his brother where he could, long after finishing the various tasks to make the soup. They didn’t fit together perfectly anymore. When Genji had been much younger, and could still cuddle his brother as much as he pleased, he’d always fit so easily in any space Hanzo was occupying.

Now? 

Much like their lives, they struggled to find a comfortable manner of being close.

“Are you even hungry?”

“Hmm?” Hanzo’s head felt too muzzy for him to say anything intelligible. He found himself a curiously comfortable balance between sleep and wakefulness, where he merely drifted along half-sleep without much thought. Genji’s presence was a powerful part of this, because Hanzo felt… safe with him. He knew his back was covered.

“Will eat…” he said, but he turned into Genji further and breathed out softly. The smallest sliver of brown peeked through his lashes. “Jus’... just after a bit.”

His head dipped down until it went too low, at which point Hanzo jerked upright with a soft exhale of surprise. He blinked and looked at Genji. “Alright,” he said, “stop nagging.”

Genji hadn’t nagged at all, but Hanzo wasn’t paying him much attention. He blinked again, bleary, and regarded the table in front of him blankly.

“I didn’t say anything,” Genji turned so he could view Hanzo a little better and decided that the man would probably drown in his soup if Genji left him with just a bowl. It wasn’t ready anyway, he might as well make sure Hanzo got more rest. He had climbed a mountain practically half-naked, after all. For a reason he still hadn’t shared.

“...you are obstinate as always.” Hanzo wasn’t exactly  _ heavy _ to Genji, but it was fairly undignified for the archer to be carried back towards his nest of blankets. Genji wedged his brother back into the warm layers of soft comfort, this time with Genji included. 

“If you are so tired why did you get up?” Genji’s voice reprimanded as his hands ran gently over his brother, whose head was probably not very cushioned in his lap. Genji squeezed a thin pillow under the tangled nest of hair.

Hanzo turned towards Genji and reached up to take his hand. It wasn't warm and yielding like a real one, but he squeezed anyway.

“Lonely in bed,” he said. “Stay.”

He’d gotten used to sleeping by Genji. To not do so felt… wrong. A part of him was missing if he did that. Hanzo pulled the hand to himself.

“Thank you,” he said for the second time that evening. Hanzo was already falling asleep, and his words grew muffled accordingly. “Stay… missed you.”

“Alright. I’m here.”

Maybe a sleepy, pliable Hanzo was far more preferable than the regular kind. Genji certainly wasn’t going to move, soup be damned. If all else failed, he could throw some shuriken until he hit the power button on the portable stovetop. Hanzo wanted to sleep, cuddled close to his brother, and nothing on the planet was going to move Genji.


	15. Chapter 15

The last few months were the longest that Hanzo spent without jet-setting across the world to kill someone somewhere. It was a strange experience at first - he woke up feeling increasingly restless, needing to get out and do  _ something _ \- but now his body seemed to be getting accustomed to the lack of activity. 

He took the opportunity to practice his archery and ignore the monks. Once or twice, some aspiring omnic with too much hope tried to approach him, but a few caustic snaps from him drove them back to Genji’s side. Hanzo was not here to make friends.

And so Genji played house with omnics and Hanzo polished his skills. Boredom made him shoot at the occasional birds he saw passing overhead until a put-out Tenzin implored Genji to tell Hanzo to cease killing monastery doves. Sometimes he successfully cajoled Genji into being his target, though not always.

In all of this, Hanzo had grown used to the company of very few. Genji, Tenzin, Zenyatta, Mondatta… those were the faces he knew. He wouldn’t have minded if it was only him and Genji up here, but it was better than being surrounded by oppressive crowds.

To his disdain, his isolation was broken when the spring thaw set in. Soon enough, Shambali and its surrounding areas began to host travelers and pilgrims alike. They brought their cameras, tents, ugly winter clothes, and stupid questions with them, and that was how Hanzo found himself on the roof of the compound, watching the first stragglers stumble in.

They were a very particular sort - the kind Hanzo recognized. Too much money and not enough sense - the kind of people who traveled to strange and foreign places to say they did and then turned every conversation thereafter into an obnoxious aside about how they went to so-and-so country in their wild and feckless youth. He sneered, perched on the shingle tiles and sheltered by an overhanging, and wondered when they would leave.

He didn’t want to share any sort of space with people after the last several, blissfully lonesome months. Their passage here from the village had woken him nearing five in the morning, when the mountain was still blue and chilled, and now the first salmon light of dawn touched their heads as they finally finished their ascent. They would be greeted by monks, given tours, provided board and room… Hanzo’s eyes narrowed.

_ Ugh _ .

 

Hanzo tolerated being at Shambali, but Genji embraced it. He was no monk, but his lack of needs to be fulfilled made him uniquely suitable to being somewhat of an apprentice. It wasn’t official, mostly because of Hanzo who was bound to have an  _ opinion _ on the matter, but Zenyatta treated him like his pupil anyway and Genji, for the first time in years, was approaching something like acceptance for himself. It was a freeing feeling, even if he struggled to keep it up in a steadfast manner. Every conversation with Hanzo was a test of his new resolutions. To be as he always believed, a better person, not a stain upon humanity. Especially now, that so little of him remained human, it was important that he did not lose his humanity. Zenyatta had helped him gain some insight into how he could view his morality as his balance, though there was nothing the omnic could say about Genji’s sick heart that continued to yearn for his brother.

In any case, Genji was largely indifferent to the increased population of the monastery. He felt only vaguely uneasy with the staring that was bound to come his way.

 

Men and women invaded the monastery like a poorly-dressed throng of cows, dull-eyed and slow-moving. Hanzo grimaced before he returned to his room and said nothing even as his brow twitched at every step outside.

When Genji returned, Hanzo was in a meditative pose on the floor mats, legs crossed, back straight, and eyes closed, but his expression looked to be nearing murder.

“Close the door,” he said out the corner of his mouth. “How can those  _ people _ still be moving around at this hour?”

_ This hour _ was twelve o’clock - a permissible hour to make noise for anyone who was not Shimada Hanzo.

 

Genji had no intention of leaving the door open in the first place, so Hanzo got his request without argument. It was, however, vaguely amusing to see Hanzo bothered. He’d been the only other human here all winter, and some of the monks felt much about him as he did about the tourists now.

“I am surprised to see you not out shooting pigeons and sparrows, brother. At  _ this  _ hour.”

 

“There is only one sparrow here to shoot,” Hanzo said, eyes closed, “and  _ he _ is currently being a mouthy bother.”

Someone dropped something outside and loud laughter followed it. Hanzo’s brows made a complicated dance that he quickly suppressed, but not before his entire body tensed up like a startled cat. Hanzo’s mouth worked as he bit the inside of his cheek then let out a controlled exhale.

“I did not realize the tourists’ season arrived so early in these parts,” he said flatly, “We must leave immediately.”

 

“You’re overreacting,” Genji crossed the room at a sedate pace, glancing through a window at the courtyard. Yes, there were some tourists there. Four women in their twenties, three men roughly the same age. Judging from their demeanour, clothes and voices, they were all from the same part of America and chose their destination with little thought. Or little knowledge, because they seemed to have no concept of being polite guests.

“I’m not leaving. I told you I wanted to learn from the monks and I am doing exactly that.”

 

Hanzo’s loud snort made it clear what his thoughts on that were. A few heavy steps pattered outside their door and it slid back.  _ Shhhhh _ , it went, and a girl - no, a woman, though deceptively young-looking - poked her head into their room.

Hanzo had already gone very, very still since the door began to slide open.

“Um, excuse me,” said the woman, blinking at the two of them. She was a healthily tanned brunette, pretty despite her long face and wide mouth.  “I’m so, so sorry to come in like this, but do you know where the bathroom is? Little bit of a lady’s emergency here.”

She made a half-wave that explained her problem without explaining anything at all. “Er, I think we’re sorta… hallmates! It’s very nice to meet you, by the way. I’d stick to chat, but I need to hurry. So - bathroom, please?”

Hanzo pointedly said nothing.

 

Hanzo’s silence forced Genji into responding. Not that he minded terribly, he wasn’t quite the icicle his brother had become. Quickly, he moved towards her, sliding between her and Hanzo. His English was a little rusty and probably heavily accented but he cared very little about what she’d think, as long as she was willing to follow his instructions.

“Nice to meet you. We’ve heard you all morning. The bathroom is along the hallway and four doors down to the right.”

He hesitated to say anything more. Should he even bother to engage the tourists in conversation? They very clearly weren’t here for enlightenment, but Zenyatta had just yesterday spoken of the need for tolerance and integration, mostly because Genji had delivered half a speech of why he was angry at the entire world.

 

“Ah, um - konichiwa!” With a brief laugh, she bowed for him. “I didn’t know there were other types of omnics here too - or that you had accents. It’s very nice to meet you, I’m Beth and I’m with those jokers out there. Thank you!”

With a wave, she slid their door shut and walked down. Hanzo listened to her steps.

“Konichiwa,” he said blandly, making sure to copy her American accent, “and arigato, Mr Tour Guide. Do you also offer informational tours around the compound?”

 

“Don’t be so bleak, Hanzo, they don’t know any better,” Genji slid the mask off of his face, mostly because he didn’t feel comfortable being called ‘other type of omnic’. It was also more convenient to let his brother see the beginnings of a smirk on his face.

“Let me guess, the dragon does not abide tourists? The dragon would rather have silence?”

It wasn’t like they had any say about who stayed at the monastery. Why not be somewhat civil?

 

“The  _ dragon _ is considering eating this mouthy shit-sparrow.” Despite himself, Hanzo’s mouth twitched upward. “Listen to them. They are loud. They are disruptive. They have no concept of knocking. How long will peace last before they ask questions? Or do you intend to pretend at being an omnic when they are near?”

Hanzo shifted, then stood up. “Perhaps target practice requires some  _ unfortunate _ accidents.” His eyes went to his bow, currently resting in its casing. “Unless you want to play house with them and practice meditating?”

 

“We are not murdering tourists, Hanzo,” Genji’s eyes also travelled to the bow, fully prepared to tackle his brother bodily if he even so much as thought about it. There was an enormous difference in killing for money, killing for the ideals of an organization, and killing because someone was _ noisy. _

“They can ask questions. They’re hardly going to disturb our peace, if you can call it that.”

Genji slid the mask back on. If Hanzo was going to be a cactus, he could do so by himself. There were other places to meditate and observe their new neighbors from. Genji didn’t find them suspicious in any way, but he knew it was better to conduct a little surveillance to be sure.

 

Hanzo made a low, disapproving  _ mmmm _ , but did not argue the point further. In the hall, they both heard the sound of the bathroom door swinging open and snow boots clomping away.

“Very well,” he said, and turned his back on Genji as he sat down for further meditation.

 

-x-

 

“This place is great,” Beth said, looking around the spacious common room. She had her hands on her hips and gazed around as if she was some prospecting colonist considering new land. “It’s clean, quiet, uncrowded… thank God we beat tourist season!”

“That’s amazing, Beth,” groused Pryce, holding an icepack to his forehead where an impressive bruise was flowering. “Now shut  _ up _ .”

Beth sat down with a huff. “I’m not sure how you managed to fall, anyway. We were all tied together.”

“Ask  _ her _ ,” he pointed at Maena, who had the grace to flush. “Can’t believe you fuckin’ convinced me up this stupid mountain…”

 

“I told ya we shoulda gone to the goddamn beach. What’s wrong with the fuckin’ Bahamas?” 

Hale’s outraged point was ignored, if only because their little round suddenly grew by one. One omnic, to be specific, judging by the metal and shiny lights being dragged into the room by Susan, who was red in the face, giggling and very much enjoying where she could hang onto the robot. Or not-robot, Hale reminded himself silently. Omnics got all offended about that kind of shit, right? Maybe he should ask that freak Pryce, he was Asian and had some sort of omnic bodypart, right? At least, that’s what Beth had whispered when introducing them to each other.

“Hey guys, you have got to meet my new friend!”

 

“No, he’s not going to fuck you, Susan, fuck off.” Pryce crushed the ice closer to his forehead and looked away from them, scowling. “Can you stop window shopping for omnics? We agreed to come here because  _ Miss-I-Have-A-Thesis-About-Omnic-Ethics _ wanted to climb this mountain because cultural relations or some shit. Not because of your fetish.”

Maena turned her face into Beth and subdued a snort that came out more like an unsightly gag. On Pryce’s other side, Tarn closed his eyes for a half-second before leaving the room wordlessly.

 

“Do you ever fucking shut up? Why the fuck are you even here?” Hale snapped in defense of Susan, who’d done him the favor of a blowjob or two and definitely didn’t deserve so much shit for her kinks. The woman was a fucking weirdo, but Pryce couldn’t be throwing rocks in his ugly little glasshouse.

Genji very much doubted that his presence here was a good idea, but he’d been encouraged to spend time around ‘normal’ people. If Zenyatta wanted him to restore his faith in mankind, he sure had a strange choice of human company to thrust him into.

“I am not actually an omnic.”

 

“See? You can stop slobbering over him, Susan.” Pryce aimed a black look at Hale, and his sharp face grew colder. “And  _ you _ don’t even have an excuse for being here aside from carrying bags, flunkie.”

Only Beth seemed to realize they were being less than welcoming to the poor not-an-omnic. Susan had already melted off of him in her embarrassment, Maena was paying more attention to her phone, and Diana had left as soon as Tarn did. She approached him, a what-can-you-do sort of smile on her face.

“What a crew, huh?” she said next to him. “It’s just… don’t mind Susan. I never caught your name, by the way. Beth McCree. You?”

 

“Genji.” 

He didn’t need to add anything else. These people had no idea what a Shimada was, and they didn’t need to know. They were in a perfect little bubble, only concerned with themselves and their petty issues. Genji saw the reflection of his old friends in them and something in him ached to be that careless again.

“Why are you all here? This is a place of reflection. Not really a party central.”

“Who the fuck are you calling a flunkie, you slanty eyed piece of shit?!” Hale was not going to take any lip from this guy, never mind the not-omnic Beth was now entertaining.

 

“There’s only one person here with a GPA lower than a 2.5,” Pryce snapped, “ _ and _ goes to remedial classes  _ for _ his remedial classes!”

Beth eyed the two of them. “Yeah. We’re definitely party animals,” she said. “I’m doing my thesis on omnic rights. Omnic Studies, you know? Uh, Pryce is doing something math-related regarding omnics. Maena is studying this mountain. Susan is in Omnic Studies with me. Tarn is our TA. Diana…” she frowned, “I don’t know how or why she is here. She just… follows Tarn.”

With a loose shrug, Beth looked at Genji. “What about you?”

 

There was the distinct flare of a fight about to break out between the two young men and it had Genji on the edge of alertness. He was ready to defend himself in a heartbeat, even if none of the aggression was directed at him. Maybe he should have taken a page out of Hanzo’s book and disappeared for the night instead of approaching the tourists. Because even with their reasons for being here given, they were little more.

Genji considered removing his visor, but decided against it firmly.

“I’m here to think on my wrongdoings and find new purpose in life rather than being a killer.”

That certainly got the attention of the round. Even Hale, seconds from punching Pryce in the smug, ugly mouth for his comment, let his eyes slide over to the not-omnic.

 

“...oh,” Beth said, mouth growing a little pursed. “So like - like a soldier, right? Is that why you’re all…”

She gestured at herself and Pryce rolled his eyes.

“Yeah, good going, tell him his entire body is fucking robotic. Fantastic job, Beth.”

Beth ignored Pryce with well-practiced ease. “That’s… nice to hear. So the other guy with you, was he also a soldier? Friend?” She paused a little. “...husband?”

 

Genji would have laughed if it wouldn’t be hideously out of place. They weren’t entirely wrong in their guesswork. He had been an agent of Blackwatch, which was more or less a special ops soldier, but he still wouldn’t call himself that. And he most certainly wouldn’t call Hanzo any of those suggested things. However, there was no need to be truthful. He wasn’t looking to make lasting friendships here. He just needed to socialise with vaguely normal human beings. He didn’t have to tell them the damned truth about anything, but it did feel nice to know there was little consequence in telling them anything at all.

It was a good change from bottling everything up.

“Ah, yes, and I must apologize, Beth. Hanzo is very...ill-tempered. He doesn’t like foreigners much.”

And anything else that breathed and spoke, really. Susan notably sagged a little at the confirmation though.

 

“That’s alright, we were pretty noisy when we came in. Tell him I said hi and sorry.” Beth smiled, but a little disappointment shone in her eyes. “You are a very lucky man, Genji, bad temper or not.”

In their shared room, Hanzo sneezed.

“Stop breathing at me,” Pryce hissed at Hale, who was closer than he would like. “You look like an idiot.”

“How about you stop breathing altogether, asshole?” Hale hissed in return.

 

“Lucky?” Genji tilted his head. All things considered, he would not call himself a lucky man whatsoever. Even if it was true and Hanzo not his brother, but his actual lover, he’d still be in a situation that screamed of misfortune, if anything at all.

“I lost ninety percent of my human body. I’m more omnic than anything else. I killed many people. I almost died to the hand of my own brother. I would not call myself lucky.”

The mood dipped further and Genji coughed to clear his cybernetic throat.

“I am sorry, I have not been around people a lot lately. I must be sounding as bitter as Hanzo.”

“Not at all man. You just sound like a fucking psycho and I’m pretty sure if we wake up dead tomorrow it’s on you.” Hale cracked open a beer.

 

“Hopefully, you’re the first to die.” Pryce snatched the beer out of Hale’s hands with a sneer. “Thanks, fucker.”

Before Hale could get revenge, Pryce stood up and left before the psycho decided to snap. Meanwhile, Beth’s smile grew more and more strained. “I’m… sorry. I suppose that’s the universe telling me to stop talking, huh?” She laughed a little nervously.

Maena looked between them. “Yeah, dude, you sound real bitter. Can’t imagine what the hubby is like.”

 

“I am sorry. I have disturbed you.” Genji congratulated himself on fucking up the first normal interaction he could have had with some people outside of his brother as he retreated, quickly. So quickly in fact that it left the room entirely silent, realising that their weird guest was gone.

“Okay, Susan, Beth? Don’t bring anymore fucking weird robots back here, ever again. Fuck. That guy was fucking creepy.”

Hale followed Pryce right up with a punch in the back. The weird robot ninja was dismissed, quickly, in favor of real problems.

“Give me back my fucking beer, you piece of shit.”

 

Pryce almost choked on his mouthful, but defiantly swallowed it just to piss Hale off further. “Drink it out of my dick, asshole.”

Pryce turned on Hale, beer in one hand, the icepack gone, and his other hand on his hip. Black hair clung to his slick forehead, where the bruise was developing purple rings. Despite this, Pryce turned his face up at Hale. “It’s got my spit in it. You want that?”

 

Hale snatched at the beer, putting it to his lips and taking big gulps of it as he stared down at Pryce. He’d teach this ugly little cavetroll a thing or two about stealing from him, just fucking watch.

Only when the bottle was empty did Hale press it back into Pryce’s hand.

“Next time, I’ll knock your fucking buckteeth out.”

 

“You’re too much of a little bitch to even try.” Pryce weighed the bottle - then turned and threw it. It went sailing over the wall, over the mountainside, and the delicate  _ clink-clish _ of it breaking echoed before falling silent. “Also, that beer tasted like shit and you have shit taste. I can’t believe Beth let you pick that.”

It was cold out here. Not too cold, otherwise Pryce would be freezing, but the weather dome couldn’t keep the outside temperature entirely out. He glared at Hale, who didn’t seem to feel the cold at all. “Well? Fuck off and beg Susan for a handie while she pretends you’re made of metal. Stand out here with another guy too long and you might need to shower while screaming about how straight you are.”

 

“God, you’re a fucking cunt.” Hale forfeited his chance at a punch, turning his back on Pryce and heading back inside. It wasn’t worth the bitching he’d have to endure, but he could fantasize about pushing Pryce’s wiry, little troll body off of a cliff. 

 

-x-

 

They continued to be loud. 

Genji could say, with utter certainty, that his stay at Shambali had taken a turn for the worse. The only thing he was exercising was patience these days, as Beth and her group did not remain the only tourists. More people meant less room and silence. They had meditation circles with a very amused Zenyatta, singing Kumbaya and other nonsense to the baffled omnic monks. It was a mockery of what the monastery stood for, and anger found its way back into Genji’s heart.

The edge of his blade could take no more sharpening. A hair could have been split on his katana, yet Genji continued.

 

“No longer so eager for friends, are we,  _ husband _ ?”

Hanzo looked at Genji imperiously, who’d taken to mimicking his example of hiding out in their room more and more. The noise was ceaseless now, seemingly endless and everywhere - laughter, walking, moving, breathing, all coming from people who were too loud to exist.

“I thought you would enjoy them. They certainly enjoy you.”

 

Genji resisted the childish urge to simply hiss at Hanzo. Yes, a few things had come back to bite him on the ass, as usual, such as the whole situation of what Hanzo was to him. Beth and her friends were ever so nice, informing everyone else about the names and status of who was staying at the monastery under some false sense of camaraderie. Genji didn’t know why he suddenly could not stand the noise of so many people knowing his name, but it was grating on his nerves.

Instead of looking at Hanzo, he ran a finger over the edge of his blade, satisfied at the faint noise it made.

“I did not think there’d be more.”

He  _ really _ didn’t want to ask, but he did want to know.

“...Why are you calling me that? Who have you been talking to?”

 

“Your friend - the loud American one with the degree - was very helpful in informing me how much of a lovely couple we were and how they would try to be more quiet.” Hanzo examined his bow. “Of course, she quickly assured me that no one here at the monastery would dare to be hateful and that she wishes we feel safe and happy here.”

He snapped the bow in half and folded it into a more manageable size. His arrows followed suit. “She also wanted me to pass on her apologies for being insensitive.”

Hanzo gave Genji a look. It was a look that said many, many things. “She also asked me about your brother, who almost killed you, and her sincere hope that you were well.” He paused. “You spent only thirty minutes with them, Genji.”

 

Genji wished one of his skillsets included turning invisible, because he was withering under Hanzo’s look. He was wasting away into nothingness with every word and he kind of wished he could just disappear rather than deal with his own mistakes. It wasn’t what Zenyatta would advise him to do, but not all of Genji was the wizened student of a monk just yet. Parts of him still would rather run or fight than accept anything he’d done.

“It just slipped out,” he replied, quietly, fingers drumming on the edge of his blade. He sincerely hoped Hanzo would not dig into this subject, but it was Hanzo, so he most definitely would. Genji didn’t know what he might find the worst part of this slight fuckup.

 

“Should we hold hands for them? Maybe kiss under the trees? Picnic?” Hanzo managed to speak entirely levelly, which only made his clipped words colder. “Another one of them asked me if we had lubricant. I’m sure  _ you _ must know, given you are the clear authority on this matter.”

Genji’s weak defense was summarily dismissed. “Mentioning our past slips out. Mentioning our names slips out. Blatantly lying and claiming we are married is not ‘slipping’. What did you intend, Genji? Dates in the village, perhaps? Romantic nights under the stars with those obnoxious tourists?”

 

“I did not,” Genji kept his attention on his blade, weighing it in his hand even though it was already perfectly balanced, “they suggested the whole thing. Beth asked me after seeing you in my room. I had no plans, Hanzo, do not make everything worse the way you always do.”

There was only so much he was going to endure from his elder brother, who leaned too readily on the old mechanic of ‘Genji, you fucked up’. That worked in their childhood, started to fade in effectiveness when he was a teenager, and now fell on deaf ears.

“They’ll be gone again by fall. It’s just an exercise of patience until then.”

 

“Exercise of patience for me. Not for you.” Hanzo’s eyes flashed. “You would enjoy it.”

Hanzo had little doubt that Genji might even savor it. Perhaps it had been deliberate on his part, no matter how much he pretended at innocence now. “You must be weaned of this interest,” Hanzo said. “You must realize that. At least consider the people here. Spend time with them. Sleep with one of them. Perhaps that will fix what is wrong with you.”

 

The mild annoyance of having Hanzo claw at him for his idiotic mistakes was quickly turned into something severe and nauseating.

For a moment, everything was still as Genji’s mind repeated Hanzo’s words. Slowly, again and again.

_ Fix you. Because you’re sick and broken, Genji. _

The lump in his throat couldn’t truly be there, but Genji couldn’t swallow it down anyway. His heart, sick and weak, raced with discomfort. Hanzo never addressed it, really, since back then. Never questioned Genji’s desires and how wrong they were. But this, right here and now, was every answer to questions Genji was too afraid to ask. 

Hanzo thought he was broken, and whatever he was doing with Genji, it was merely extending his sickness. It was all on Genji and that inevitable drive behind Hanzo’s every action; his guilt.

“Fix...what is  _ wrong _ with me?” he asked, voice flat and low.

 

“Yes,” Hanzo said mercilessly. “Do it with a man or a woman - I do not care. But it is wrong and you know it.”

Hanzo regarded Genji coolly. “This is for your own sake, moreso than mine,” he continued. “You are driving yourself into misery by wanting me. Both of us.”

He doubted anyone would deny Genji. The factor of the exotic and the strange was too alluring for those who climbed here simply to see this enigmatic cluster of omnics. To sleep with one - one who looked more human than most omnics? It would be… ideal.

 

Genji was glad that his upgraded body didn’t make the telltale signs of combat activation. The biolights hissed as they retreated inside to make a smooth surface, but that was nothing compared to the wheezing and sputtering of his prototype body. There were signs, of course, but he was no longer easy to read. He was no longer just human.

“Would that make you  _ happy _ , Hanzo?”

The question was a loaded gun and Genji was ready to receive the entire magazine worth of bullets.

 

Hanzo met his eyes.

“Yes. It would.” He spoke softly so those outside did not hear them, but his words carried an air of firm finality. Hanzo would not let Genji’s weighted words dismiss what he had to say. He knew which of them was in the right here and now, and it was not the brother who dreamed of the forbidden.

“That girl. Susan. She would not require much persuasion. If you are nervous, I can speak to her. Married couple’s experimentation.” Hanzo had no humor in him when he said that. “I don’t want to touch you anymore, Genji. It sickens me.”

 

Genji stopped breathing for a good three minutes. He stopped moving altogether, and he was glad for the visor. Hanzo...had a talent. No, he had a destiny, and that was to cut his little brother to pieces. Whatever form that took did not matter, Hanzo always hit his target with unerring aim. Genji’s sick little heart beat harder, but it was no happy anxiety, it was downright shameful pain.

Hanzo made his position devastatingly clear.

It  _ sickened _ him. Memories competed for Genji’s mind, each picture vying for attention. Hanzo’s scowl when they kissed. Hanzo’s averted gaze when they fucked. Hanzo’s disapproving sneer when Genji spoke of the past, confessed his terrible needs.

Maybe he deserved all of this. Maybe this insurmountable pain, very familiar in how numb it made him, was exactly what he deserved. He’d seduced his brother, more or less, even after the horrific punishment he received for being himself in the first place.

What Zenyatta had built up so carefully for months came crashing down, a house of cards that stood no chance against the tornado Hanzo’s quiet words whipped up. Genji wasn’t worth any of that enlightenment he was so desperately chasing, not when he continued to be sick, deep down. Hanzo had been patient, but nothing had changed. Genji was no better off, and his brother’s patience had run out. 

Genji got up, sheathing his blade as he headed for the door. There was nothing he could say, and besides, the visor wouldn’t muffle the angry, ugly sobs he was choking on right now. There was no way to really slam a sliding door so it wasn’t as dramatic an exit as it deserved to be, but Genji’s silence was telling nonetheless.

 

Hanzo watched him go. He did not make an effort to run after his brother and if he felt any guilt for his cruel words, his still, stern face masked it very well.

It had been what Genji needed to hear, he told himself. It might have been heartless, but Genji should not have expected anything less from him. He needed to know the truth and break free of the cage he made for himself so that he could find someone who would love him back with the same intensity. Someone who  _ should _ love him back.

He bit his lip and looked down at the arrow in his hand. He stroked its shaft with his thumb, eyes distant, and then dropped it on the bed with a disgusted noise. He left but not to pursue Genji.

He had to clear his mind.


	16. Chapter 16

Clearing his mind was not at all possible for Genji. Or rather, yes, his mind was already clear, except for one, resounding thought that continuously drowned out everything else. Did heartbreak make a sound? He didn’t know how he’d ended up in the same situation as years ago, again, at the hands of Hanzo.

Genji had taken off from the monastery, leaving behind the mountain, the village, and most importantly, his icy brother. Who was right, but that didn’t lessen the pain in the slightest. Genji didn’t know where he’d go or what he’d do. 

There was a small town, nestled between the mountain range a little ways off. It was nothing like the sleepy village at the foot of the monastery. It was the kind of town just big enough for crime, and yet too small for any real attention from any governing body. 

It was the perfect place to satisfy the other sick instinct that ruled Genji’s existence; he was going to fulfill the only purpose he’d ever had in life. It didn’t really matter anymore, did it? He was a sick son of a bitch, raised to be a weapon, raised to be scum. It was stupid of him to think he’d ever amount to more. Hanzo was right. Maybe he’d always been. Genji couldn’t run from what he was, nor from what he felt.

It didn’t take him long to locate the local drugslingers. It didn’t matter who they were or why they did what they did. Genji’s blade had not been sharpened in vain tonight.

 

Genji was missing but Hanzo did not question it this time. He found solace in his cigarettes and the  _ raksi _ from the village; it kept his mind on the present and away from regret. Those words had been necessary, yes. Genji needed to hear them, as cruelly and spitefully as Hanzo said them.

He, for the first time, mingled with the tourists. There were more of them now, all dressed in casual, civilian wear, laughing and smiling as they spoke to one another. Hanzo disappeared into their midst without a single eye batted in his direction. He avoided Beth and her group, sticking to the faces he did not recognize and did not recognize him.

It felt strange to be this far away from Genji. It felt stranger to be in a crowd, amid bodies touching his own, and feeling disconnected from all of them.

Hanzo walked among his fellow human beings. He listened to them. He watched them. He smelled their food and touched their clothes, tasted their cheap candy and felt as if he were a ghost.

But this was fine. It was good. The more he drank, the less he considered Genji.

Drinking let him find her. Well, her, at first. She had been an inch taller than him and a mix of races, though he wouldn’t know which ones if asked. Her hair had been curly and she had smelled nice, so Hanzo approached her and they talked. He remembered her name for half the conversation, and forgot it when she touched his arm.

She was nice. Clean. No one he could sensibly deny.

He walked away from her. Hanzo made his excuses and walked through the crowd. The once-peaceful monastery courtyard was now writhing with bodies who listened to music and chatted. This was a regular thing, he learned, and the Shambali Music Festival was apparently of some renown.

A party. Genji liked parties.

Hanzo kept walking until he bumped into someone else. A him.

He was not as appealing as the girl had been. But Hanzo still leaned into him anyway and it wasn’t so bad how the dice fell down, because he was drunk enough to not shudder away from his touch. When he - and Hanzo didn’t know his name, didn’t even bother asking - asked to lead him away, Hanzo considered breaking his wrist in three places.

He was lead away. Not to the residential spaces in the monastery, as he feared. No, apparently the monastery had a small elevator in the back that went down the village. Also temperature controlled. Hanzo was offered a coat anyway, and he took it automatically.

Could Genji see him? Hanzo put the hood over his head, suddenly paranoid, and the other man laughed and pulled his hair loose.

It took him a few seconds to wrestle down the anger long enough to realize they were kissing. It was slobbery and Hanzo wondered what his mouth must taste like, all bitter and smoky, and he felt distant from it all. It wasn’t the worst kiss, but he participated anyway.

The elevator stopped with a rattle. Hanzo was lead away and he only stumbled partially before following. The village had a hotel - that was where he was being taken.

Where was Genji?

They stumble up the hotel stairs - it had no elevator, so they had to walk. Hanzo was shoved against a wall twice and both times, he spent more time blinking the haze out of his eyes than feeling the teeth on his neck. They found the right door eventually and Hanzo caught his reflection in the hallway mirror only briefly.

His collar had been pulled down so often it’d stretched. His neck was a myriad of teeth marks and pinkened, flaming buds, and his eyes had gotten lost long before he even left the monastery grounds. He was in no state fit for human company, much less sex with a stranger.

He went for the bed. They rolled around on it for some time.

“I only saw you around a bit, didn’t think this would happen -”

They were talking, though Hanzo could not divine the reason why. A hand went to his crotch and a moue of disappointment briefly paused affairs.

“Whiskey dick, huh? You alright?”

“Keep going,” Hanzo said, “doesn’t matter.”

He blinked fog out of his eyes. Air brushed over his chest and Hanzo saw the shock of hair - blonde, bright and buttery - near his middle. Some of him stung, as if bitten.

A hand touched his knees. Hanzo hissed - “Don’t do that!” he snapped. Stupid Genji, he’d already told him that he didn’t like them being messed with -

“Sorry,” a voice that wasn’t Genji said. “Curious. Won’t do it again.”

He laid back down. Someone was mouthing his hip. Hanzo felt himself manage to grower limper when their teeth knocked into the bone, all awkward and un-right.

A hand squeezed his ass and Hanzo briefly recounted the way one could break a neck with their leg. A bottle cap clicked. Hanzo stared at the ugly, cracked plaster ceiling until his mind caught up with what that could mean.

A hard shape nudged his thigh. Hanzo frowned and his head lolled to one side. He felt hot, but not turned on, and the room was growing claustrophobic. When a slickened finger tried to wiggle in, he swung his elbow back and broke their nose neatly.

“Fuck!”

They went back. Hanzo remained on the bed, breathing hard, blinking, angry for a reason he could not explain. He looked backwards to snap a harsh rebuke at Genji for rushing, and saw a blonde man holding his bleeding, bruised nose. He was naked.

“You fucking crazy - fuck! My nose!”

Hanzo looked around. He saw the small bottle that must have clicked. It was hot pink and decorated with glittery star patterns.

_ SAUCY STRAWBERRY _ , it said proudly, and a little yellow bubble on top screamed,  _ BETTER SEX!  _

Hanzo pocketed it, though he probably should have thrown it away, and stumbled to find something to wear. By the time he was dressed, he was rather certain he was wearing the stranger’s socks and shirt, but did not bother to redress that. He could have taken the door, like a normal person, but he just opened the window and dropped down.

His feet found purchase on roof. Tiled. Hanzo walked and only nearly fell off once when a his foot found a patch of late-spring ice. He slipped but caught himself, and crawled forward until level surface was reached.

He still heard swearing. Hanzo chose to ignore it.

Where was Genji? Shouldn’t he have found him by now? Surely there would be some cheeky noise about his vices and then some clever comment about - about something, and then they would go back home together to have mentally-debilitating sex.

Hanzo stood up and kept walking. He rifled through his pockets for his packet, and found them at the very bottom. The cigarette he pulled out was crushed, tobacco flaking out the end, and broken at the waist. He still put it to his mouth and located his lighter.

_ Click. Click.  _ The third try lit up the smoke and Hanzo inhaled too much on the first go. He coughed, doubled over, and felt his throat and nose burn from his mistake.

_ Gross,  _ Genji said,  _ you sound like an old man. _

Hanzo took a deep drag to prove him wrong. His eyes watered slightly, but Hanzo forged on, walking across rooftops, avoiding light and ice as he tried to find his way back.

Something poked his side. He pulled at it and found the bottle again. A strawberry with its tongue sticking out, one eye winking, smiled at him and Hanzo considered throwing it over the the mountain.  _ Warming sensation for extra pleasure _ , it declared and Hanzo frowned. Who the fuck used this shit?

It was dumb. He didn’t need this.

_ You know why you kept it, _ Genji leered and Hanzo looked to the side to glare at an offending shock of green, and only found someone’s porchlight. Genji didn’t even have green hair anymore.

He threw the bottle from hand to hand. And as he did, his brain went back to the wet fingers trying to edge inside him.

If Genji had agreed to fuck him, would he have done that? At least he would know that Hanzo hated having the ends of his prostheses messed with and that he needed time to adjust. He would’ve known better.

Hanzo frowned.

That… was not a good thing.

Still, Genji fucked a lot of people, right? So he would know what he was doing. Probably more than Hanzo, given how much he experimented. Perhaps he’d know how to make it feel good, rather than vaguely nauseating.

Hanzo pocketed the lube again. He also almost fell again, but that didn’t matter. He found the elevator, but the cart was gone. A little green arrow flickered and he heard it rattling towards him.

Hanzo hid.

Some minutes later, a young, laughing group came out. The girl from earlier almost came out, beautiful and curly-haired, but Hanzo passed over her, over her friends, and was in the cart before they realized it. It took him up and Hanzo turned the lube over again, and wondered why he wondered about Genji.

The cart stopped at the top of the mountain. The party was ongoing, but Hanzo circled and found the residential spaces. It was quiet there and he heard some snoring bodies as he passed through the wings. When he found their room, he fell into bed.

After a few seconds, propriety made him kick off his shoes. Hanzo lay there until he grabbed a pillow and pressed it to his nose.

Detergent. The oil he and Genji used for their weapons. Some of his own musk. Nothing of Genji, which oddly disappointed him.

Hanzo turned and looked up. The lube ended up under him, digging into his back, and Hanzo’s vision wavered like he was underwater. He was still a little hot. He first tugged at hs shirt - not his, the stranger’s - until the buttons came undone. But his hand did not stop there. He passed his palm over his chest, over his stomach, and under the waistband of his pants.

When he held his cock, it was hard. Very much unlike in the hotel room. Hanzo considered it vaguely, then weighed the inappropriateness of jerking off in the same bed he shared with his brother.

Same bed he fucked his brother.

His cock twitched. Hanzo blinked and decided not to dig too hard into that. He went slowly - not really because he wanted to drag it out, but because his mind wandered and he lost momentum. At first, he pictured some nameless girl. Pretty, lithe, decently smart - someone he could have married back then.

It did little. Picturing any number of fucked up scenarios gave him nothing, so he moved onto men. Shorter men. Taller men. Younger, older, all those he could think up. After a while, he settled on someone good enough. Near his age, similarly fit, intelligent, capable, attractive.

The generic figure had no voice. That is, until Hanzo was finally warming up and feeling like this night could have  _ some _ kind of conclusion that wasn’t the most disappointing non-orgasm ever.

He’d be smart enough to avoid Hanzo’s irritants and good enough to keep him guessing. Plenty experienced, enough to make Hanzo’s head lol back when he kissed his neck.

_ I want to look at you _ , the nameless figure said.

No, no, that wasn’t how this worked. Go back down.

_ Say my name. _

There was no name.

_ I can touch you everywhere you want. _

His mouth, his thighs, his cock, his ass, everywhere outside and inside, enough that Hanzo could lose some of the tension inside him. The roll of hips would make fireworks light up in his chest and Hanzo could choke out -

_ Genji. _

No. Absolutely not. Not that. This wasn’t where this was supposed to go.

Satisfaction wasn’t that. He refocused on himself and on the hand around him, tried to picture someone else’s hand or mouth, and the glittering eyes that might be above those lips, adoring.

_ You know who I am. _

He didn’t. Hanzo turned on his side, pictured him fucking someone - or being fucked, it was getting rather hazy at the moment -

_ Say it. _

He wouldn’t. Hanzo bit his lip and his grip tightened enough to make a small wheeze grow in his throat. He pushed his face into the bed, as if to drive the images away with the fabric, and this was Genji’s side of the bed, oh no, fuck, fuck, no, he needed to stop -

With a shudder, he spilled into his hand and the muffle of the fabric did not hide the shape of his lips.  _ Genji _ , Hanzo whispered into the covers, hidden to the world but bare to himself. He was drunk, but being drunk didn’t make you unthinking.

Orgasm felt like guilt. He was sweating, still laying there, black hair half in his mouth, and Hanzo knew what he said, what he meant, and this was what sickness too deep to cut out felt like. Maybe it had always been in him, like murder was. Maybe it was something new, introduced like an invasive parasite.

Maybe that did not matter at all and Hanzo was the same as his brother.

 

Maybe Genji was just the same as his brother. The thought struck him among a few others, idling in and out of his head. He stared down at the courtyard behind the house beneath him. His wrath had been unprovoked and swift and the snow here was no longer white. Nor was anyone standing guard or dividing up baggies. He’d killed again, and this time, no one ordered it. He’d done what came naturally to him, and Genji had not stopped to ask them why they were doing it.

He was no better. Killing them was, as Hanzo had always wanted him to understand, nothing that mattered at all. It didn’t make Genji better, and it didn’t fix the world. Good god, why had Genji ever started believing he was anything but this?

His blade was still dripping, a pattern of red on the icy rooftiles. He took off his visor, running a wet hand over his face. Melted water or blood, it mattered not to him, he just needed to feel something on his actual skin.

Gods, he was a fool. How many times did the world have to collapse around him before he understood? How many times did Hanzo have to pierce his heart before he gave up? Sweat mingled with blood and tears and Genji’s face was filthy when he pulled the visor back on. He should leave. The monastery was nothing but a farce. Not because Zenyatta and the monks were false in any way, but because Genji wasn’t capable of becoming like them. 

He should leave Hanzo behind. That was the truth, but it was also impossible. They were snakes, dragons, biting each other’s tail, unable to live together or apart. What was he supposed to do? If he fled from Hanzo, his brother would find him. There was no alternative. He’d have to learn to mute his sick desires and be numb. Cold as ice, cold as Hanzo. He’d have to learn from his brother, no matter how much it pained him.

The way back to Shambali was silent and dark, with no stars shining through the clouded skies. Genji relied on his sensors to scale the cliffwall and navigate the monastery to find his rooms.

 

What time was it? Hanzo was not sure. He’d lay in bed without sleeping for hours now, unable to sleep, feeling cold and awkward.

When he heard the steps - soft, brushing, correct - his heart made a leap it never had before. Why now? And how dare it?

He did not move when the sliding door opened and closed. Hanzo turned to look at Genji, and the scent of blood hit his nose.

“Who was it?”


	17. Chapter 17

Genji saw no need to answer his brother. Not to mention he couldn’t cough up a name, even if he wanted to. He didn’t bother to check whom he had slaughtered.

Instead, he busied himself stripping down some of his arsenal, all of which required a deep cleaning. Hanzo had looked hungover, somewhat, and Genji did not want to know how that had ended. Hanzo’s life and his...he’d have to learn to divide them again.

 

Genji’s lack of answer made Hanzo sit up. He considered him, unafraid even though Genji looked as if he had walked out of a slaughterhouse, and got up. Genji was dutifully cleaning, as he should, but Hanzo stopped in front of him and put a hand on his.

“So this is where you went,” he muttered, more to himself than anything else, and rubbed away a speck of blood. It left a small brown ring, but most of it was still wet. Fresh. “Genji. Look at me.”

 

Slowly, Genji obeyed. He felt numb already, which was a good sign, when looking at his brother. He was unfairly attractive in all the worst ways, and he made Genji sick in countless more. But very little of that was Hanzo’s fault, and Genji saw that now. It was all in his own head, the sick fantasies that plagued him since childhood. Hanzo wasn’t right in all things, but in this, he was and Genji would accept it now. 

“What do you want?”

He sounded hopeless, even to his own ears. 

 

“To make you realize what you’ve done to me.” If Genji had been as he was, Hanzo would have hit him in that moment. As it was, he knew doing so would be only inviting the breaking of his own hand. “You weren’t happy being like that on your own, were you? You had to… keep going.”

Hanzo pulled the sword from Genji’s hand and dropped it. “I tried to find someone else, like  _ you _ couldn’t.”

Hanzo paced shortly and stopped. “Why must you plague me even when I drive you away?” He rubbed his face and took a deep breathe. He felt the desire to pull his hair out to simply express the pent-up energy inside him but refrained. “I was there, right there, in their bed, in their room - and all I see is  _ you _ . Can’t you leave me alone? Do you not realize I am sick enough as it is? How far down do I have to go before you are satisfied, Genji?”

Half the words out of his mouth were surely nonsense. Hanzo took a step away from Genji, then undid that. He took his brother’s head - metal and lights, unnatural - between his hands. He looked into the visor, as if to see what lay behind them. “It’s your fault,” he accused. “The murder is on my hands… but this? This is all  _ you _ .”

His hands clawed. He wanted to tear the visor and mask off, but the latches didn’t respond to his groping fingers. Hanzo kissed the metal instead, tasted its steel and blood, and felt himself grow only angrier. The kiss was tender, but the look in his eyes was not.

 

It was all him. Genji swallowed heavily, but the brick in his throat wouldn’t dislodge. Hanzo had every right to be angry, and to blame him. Finally, clarity had reached Genji, after years and years of delusion. He’d been sick and weak and completely beyond reality. He thought he could be a person with a moral center, all the while his heart was rotting away, yearning for his own flesh and blood. Genji deserved what happened, and even now, Hanzo continued to remind him of it.

The visor stayed in place, and Genji felt dirt and salt prick at his skin. It wasn’t the first time he’d hit a low point since the betrayal of his brother, but it was the first instance of anger having left him completely. He deserved it. He was guilty. He was wrong and broken and Hanzo knew it too. This was...better. More truthful. Hanzo knew what he was dealing with now, and Genji could not hide behind false hopes for himself and the childish belief in redemption and heroics.

“You’re right.”

 

“You never say that.” He pulled Genji closer until they both leaned into each other. Something was happening, he knew it, but it eluded him as surely as absolution. Hanzo could really only touch Genji and let his world fall down like glass.

If he weren’t still half-drunk, he might have raged. Screamed. He might have made Genji suffer the brunt of his fury, but Hanzo was too tired to do that. Mortal men could only hold so much fire in their hearts before it devoured everything in them.

“You did it,” he announced, voice a little hollow, “You’ve succeeded. I want you like no brother should. Are you pleased?”

 

Genji moved his arms to rest around Hanzo, pressing his visor into his brother’s shoulder. He couldn’t speak. This was wrong, and he’d never felt so low before. Never in his life had he wanted to  _ break  _ his brother down. Pull his head out of the collective Shimada ass, sure. Beat him for destroying Genji’s body beyond recognition, yes. But never had he wanted to do this to him. To make him as miserable as Genji had been, with the same, awful disease festering in his heart. He ruined Hanzo’s life, and now, this too.

Hanzo probably expected him to feel elated. Instead, Genji heaved a sob. His cybernetic body didn’t shudder, it could not, but it also didn’t muffle any of what was happening inside of the visor. 

“I’m sorry.” Genji whispered, and he never meant anything more in his life, “I’m sorry Hanzo. I made you sick.”

 

“Take your mask off,” Hanzo instructed. “If you are really sorry, then take it off.”

Genji fumbled but the mask clicked off. Hanzo tried to take it from him, but both their fingers met in the middle gracelessly and the mask fell down in the jumble. Hanzo looked up and saw his brother, weeping like he hadn’t since he was a very young boy. Uncontrolled, red-faced, and hiccuping, he cried near endlessly.

Hanzo sighed.

First, he wiped his brothers tears with his thumbs, pushing them out to the side. He still wore the stranger’s shirt and so it didn’t matter to him when he pulled it off and wiped his nose with the sleeve. It fell to the floor when he was done, and Hanzo scrubbed his wet cheeks with his palms.

He’d done this ritual countless times before, back when they had been much, much younger. Genji had been such a crier back then, bursting into waterworks when he scraped his knee or hit his elbow, and Hanzo had always had to stop and wipe away the mess. They had no mother who would have done that for them.

“Shh,” Hanzo murmured, “enough. No more tears, Genji.”

Again, he wiped them away. Hanzo lead his sobbing brother to the bed and they both laid down in a mess of limbs and bodies. Hanzo’s leg hung off the side of the bed and Genji wasn’t really horizontal, but they managed. His head lay on Hanzo’s chest, where he could listen to his heartbeat and the ever-present rustling of the ink under his skin, and Hanzo gently pet his head.

 

Hanzo had always known how to take care of Genji. Especially when they were kids. It was a stark contrast between the sweetness of their brotherly bond then and the horrific mess of their feelings now, and Genji wished he could dismiss all of it.

Listening to Hanzo’s heartbeat did soothe him. It was steady and close, and it reminded him that even if he was sick, he still had Hanzo. Even now, that he was so dramatically aware of his mistakes, his brother would not leave him.

Eventually, the sobbing turned to just hiccups and those to silent submission. Genji was in no mood to wash his body or clean his weapons. He wanted to be little again, and teach himself not to blur certain lines. 

“Hanzo, I am sorry. For...fucking everything up. Always. I don’t...I don’t deserve you.” And he meant it. He didn’t deserve this older brother who had once been willing to do everything he could, stubbornly refused by Genji’s arrogant delusions.

 

“We will talk when the morning is here and our heads are clearer,” Hanzo said, “but now… now, we sleep. I’m sorry, Genji.” For what exactly, Hanzo did not say. He was sorry for everything - for being the brother he was, for being weak enough to fall, for being Hanzo - that was something to apologize for.

Tears and revelations could bring fatigue to even the most wicked hearts, and so Hanzo’s hand slowed as his breathing deepened. He was tired of all things, most of all himself, so he went to sleep for a blissfully blank space in time, pulling away from the hurtful world while he could.

 

Hanzo had a gift for escaping uncomfortable situations that Genji envied him for. He listened to his brother’s heart and breath slow as he slipped off into sleep, but Genji would find no such relief. He was left alone with his thoughts and slew of emotions. 

Until the crack of dawn, Genji didn’t move. He stirred only to throw down a shutter so the sun wouldn’t hurt his eyes as it befell the scene of their argument. If you could call it that. The distinct lack of death and broken furniture marked this as a mild disagreement, but Genji’s heavy bags under his eyes spoke of something else entirely.

They should leave the monastery. Zenyatta had much to teach, but Genji was the wrong student. He saw that now. Perhaps he and Hanzo should continue mercenary work. That was soul-destroyingly appropriate for a couple of broken men from a dire clan. 

Genji couldn’t sleep. He didn’t need to and he wouldn’t, if he could avoid it.

 

Morning came and went. Hanzo slept and Genji lay on him, consumed by his poisonous thoughts. It was nearing noon that Hanzo woke up, tasting bitter morning breath. He felt curiously at peace, but that was only the first few buffer moments before reality struck him.

And strike him it did.

He looked down to see Genji, who looked back at him. They stared at each other like for some time, silent and considering, until Hanzo broke the silence. “We can’t stay,” he said, “not after those deaths.”

 

Trust Hanzo to wake up and continue their conversation as if he hadn’t passed out for several hours. Genji had wiped most of the blood on the sheets and checked the few newsfeeds he could access via his internal interface. Local news only, no witnesses. Still, he hadn’t been subtle.

“I have to kill the tourists.” he spoke with resignation, dull acceptance in his eyes and voice. This was how his life was going to turn out, no matter what he tried. Once a cold-hearted killer, always one.

“I told them my name and yours. The monks too.”

 

“Leaving the place a bloodbath is a very good message to send,” Hanzo said, “but that is not how subtlety works, brother. We leave now while no one is looking, and we say nothing. You told them our names before you… did that. You knew we would eventually leave. Either way, these people would know us.”

Hanzo sat up, making Genji roll a little down his stomach. “I have no time to hunt crying people all over this frozen-over rock.”

He touched his hand to Genji’s cheek, still slightly damp. “Neither do you. Now, get up.”

 

“That doesn’t make much sense. But fine. If you don’t care, neither do I.” Genji got up, letting the blankets slide off as the room grew brighter with his biolights. He searched around for the weapons he’d discarded and cleaned last night, assembling what belonged to him in just a few minutes. His gaze never really left the floor. 

“Where do we go?”

He didn’t want to leave, but he knew there was no hope for him here, not anymore.

 

“Away. Somewhere warmer.” Hanzo dressed with the same mechanical ease as Genji, efficient and swift, but paused as he grabbed his bow. “If we had to kill these people,” he said, “I will do it myself. Not you.”

His bow went to his back. Hanzo combed their room and found something tangled in the bed sheets.

_ SAUCY STRAWBERRY _ mocked him and Hanzo had a brief fantasy of throwing it out the window with all his other problems. Instead, the hateful, winking strawberry joined his bow in the case.

There. All things accounted for.

All things… except for Genji. Hanzo looked at him and tried to say something, but words were not coming to him. Tact, sympathy, kindness… he was not good at those things. Perhaps that was part of why he found himself capable of killing Genji. So he simply left ahead of his brother, guiding them away from the shadows of this monastery.

 

Genji followed Hanzo, but some part of him would remain within Shambali. It wasn’t right to leave as they did, without a word uttered to the monks that had hosted them for months, that had tried to teach Genji so much about acceptance and peace.

It wasn’t right. But neither was it to have them host a set of sick, murderous brothers any longer. 

Where Hanzo would lead him no longer mattered to Genji. He kept his visor firmly in place and spoke as little as he possibly could. Amiable chatter had died along with Genji’s other habits. They became two lowly nomads in the world, silent companions that could not be more distant. No matter how close Hanzo entangled himself at night, or even pressed a kiss to Genji’s cold metal, nothing changed. No more would Genji touch his brother and make him more sick. It didn’t matter how it made him feel. He’d been selfish for long enough.

 

Shambali and its frost-capped mountains were put behind them. Hanzo and Genji escaped the memories as quickly as they dodged their enemies, and their travels found them leaving Nepal for somewhere else. They wandered north for some time, even touching China, but swung west after a nasty tangle with the triads.

The sweltering Middle East embraced the vagrant brothers. Hanzo tanned and took to wearing thin, white linen long-sleeves with scarves wrapped around his head to protect himself from the heating sun, and they continued further in until they found Turkey.

They settled down there, near the coasts as Hanzo preferred it. White sand and lagoon-blue seas became their providence, and that was where Hanzo parked Genji. A false name and a stolen ID gave him entrance into the Ritz-Carlton overlooking the beach, and Hanzo snatched up the penthouse where he could smuggle Genji in.

The Ritz-Carlton was an old, Art Nouveau-style building that was unfairly wealthy. Its paint must have been once a rich cream, but now it was a pale, blushing peach color that still maintained a haughty, regal air. A giant fountain in the middle of the driveway spouted water in perfect patterns, and the water-spray painted rainbows over the road. 

Squares of crumpled marigolds, flushing orchids, and fluttery forget-me-nots were framed by fat, green mounds of grass, all of which were diligently watered by the tiny sprinklers hidden among them. These miniature gardens divied out the massive driveway - there was where the ladies stepped out, there was the garage, there was the lobby, and there was the road that separated the Carlton from the riff-raff. Shiny, expensive cars prowled through the even roads, growling like jaguars, and busboys rushed out to take them from their well-dressed owners. 

Hanzo digested all of this and fit in perfectly, every inch of him manicured into the image of wealth he’d been born into. His eyes were cool and his suit fit him, so much that no one would realize every inch of him was stolen, down to the Rolex around his wrist.

 

All of the splendor was wasted on Genji. The younger of the two Shimadas cared little for their extraordinary location, or for the things his brother stole and acquired. All Genji needed was to not be around Hanzo, but that was entirely impossible. 

What good were sandy beaches and gorgeous views to him? It all passed him by without notice, without reaction. The hotel offered many luxuries, all of which would spoil any human rotten. Except, you know, Genji wasn’t human anymore. And he had no more energy to try and deny it.

He was glum, day in, day out. Silent, often, and simply staring off in a direction that didn’t involve Hanzo. Nothing about their getaway allowed him to get away.

 

Genji’s lack of response worried Hanzo. Anger, bitterness, sadness - all of that he could handle from him. But this… nothingness? It was not Genji at all. He did not know it and that, more than anything else, frightened Hanzo. He would not admit to anyone else, ever, but he worried.

But where people might have gone for a delicate approach, Hanzo was less… careful. He, at first, gave Genji time. Reasoning that he might be merely unhappy because of their departure from the monastery, Hanzo let him have the time needed to mope then move on. But still, Genji remained glum.

Hanzo tried to make him laugh. To make him argue. He failed miserably.

At last, at a loss, he did what he did best. He hit Genji until he reacted.

“Genji,” Hanzo said, nudging his brother. “Speak to me. You haven’t done… anything… today. Aren’t you bored? Don’t you want to see the stuff outside? We can throw a blanket on you, no one will care.”

 

“No.”

Genji’s response was apathetic as always. What was the use in stepping outside? Genji wasn’t some curious student, wandering the world during a gap year. If he saw the outside, it would be out of necessity.

“What do you want me to do?”

Dull eyes turned to Hanzo, resting on him without so much as a flicker of interest.

 

“Stop that,” Hanzo snapped. Genji would have jumped at the opportunity to leave and explore his surroundings. Now, he was duller than watching paint dry. “What is wrong with you?” Hanzo demanded, standing up.

He threw his hands up in the air, patience at its withered ends. “You are not smiling, you are not making annoying comments, you are not even running around poking your nose into things. You are not like that. You don’t sit inside and stare at the TV all day!”

 

Was Genji watching TV? He hadn’t noticed turning the thing on. Someone was speaking, but he didn’t understand the language. It didn’t really matter, his eyes weren’t clinging to the flicker of colour anyway.

“I’m a sick, twisted fuck, do you remember that?”

Because Hanzo certainly helped point it out.

“You were right. About me, and about people. Probably even about the monks. I don’t know what you want me to do now, Hanzo, but I’m listening.”

 

“Not  _ this _ ,” Hanzo said and Genji’s own insults, directed at himself, made him bristle. That was not how Genji was supposed to be. He was relentlessly optimistic, enough to drive Hanzo up the wall, and he persisted no matter what. Hanzo would mock him and Genji would continue anyway.

That was how things  _ were _ . Now, it felt like someone had torn the rug out from under him while Hanzo was not looking.

“You’re not -”  _ But you said it yourself, _ “No. Genji, that wasn’t…”

He rubbed his face. “I want my brother back.”

 

“I can’t turn back into a child, Hanzo.” Genji flicked a finger over the remote, muting the TV. Clearly, Hanzo was in the mood to talk tonight and nothing Genji said would discourage him. 

“There’s no point in becoming a good person, is there, Hanzo? I can’t be. Because I already am not. I kill people. I killed people just to feel better. It’s not just the gumi, you were right about that too. It’s me. I can’t...not be a monster. Why fight it anymore?”

 

Hanzo did not appreciate having his own words thrown back at him. He liked it even less having it thrown back at him while Genji looked at him sadly. Hanzo searched his brother’s face, trying to find an answer to the unhappiness that welled up in him in response to his brother’s clear misery.

“You’re not… supposed to react like that,” he said haltingly, “I don’t - I never wanted you to lose hope. I wanted you to accept the world as it was, but not to become…”

_...like me _ .

“... cold. You are not like that. You should not be.”

 

“Those two things don’t work well together, Hanzo.” How could Genji accept his new, bleak view of the world with any kind of hope left in his heart? He’d made his brother sick, lost all ties to his heroes, lost faith in organizations that were supposed to better the world. And most of all, he finally knew that he could not be a good person. It was impossible.

“You wanted me to accept things as they are. I’m a murderer, a monster, and even my emotions are sick and twisted. I don’t really see what I can hope for anymore.”

 

“You are my brother and you are better than me.” Hanzo stood up and paced the room, walking back-and-forth as he tried to put his words together. “You are… impossible. You forgive me for the worst crime. That is who you are, Genji, and not what you say.”

He contradicted his own words. He, too, recalled those very accusations coming out of his mouth. Hanzo wouldn’t take them back, but he also didn’t want Genji to accept it. It felt  _ wrong _ for him to accept anything. “You are headstrong. You survive. You are like a weed, but infinitely more charming.”

 

“But none of that is what you said I should be.” Genji could feel a faint inkling of anger flare up in him, like a tiny flare of a flame. It died down almost immediately, but it was more than he’d felt for weeks.

“I’m a fucking weed?”

Genji turned the TV off to glare.

 

It was the barest inkling of emotion, but it was more than what Hanzo had seen in ages. He clung to it, willed it to spark hotter, wanted Genji to rage and snarl at him as long as it gave him  _ something _ to feel. The meaningless drone of the TV was gone, leaving the room buzzing with energy between them.

“I never wanted to make you unhappy,” Hanzo said. “That’s not - not what I intended. I just wanted to make you see the truth.”

Perhaps, he simply did not see that Genji’s happiness would die once his faith did. Hanzo was accustomed to his own bitter nature - had steeped in it so long that he knew nothing else. But Genji was not like that. He was hopeful and dreaming and warm in ways that boggled Hanzo, even after everything his own flesh and blood did to him. Conceit made Hanzo see that as a weakness, when it was really Genji’s strength.

“I was wrong,” he said. How did he always realize the truth when it was too late to fix it? Perhaps he had not changed at all from the angry man who killed his little brother for empty honors. “I don’t want to see you like this. I just…”

He just wanted to help. He just wanted to make Genji correct, as Hanzo saw it. And time, once again, proved that what Hanzo saw was not correct at all, and all he made was ruination of someone who deserved better.

 

Genji stared at him for a long time, letting the silence help in leaving Hanzo’s words to set as he considered the conundrum that was his brother. It was up and down with Hanzo, love and war and peace and hate. This man was so entirely beyond balance that it should have been no surprise that sooner or later, he would pull Genji down with him. Gods above, his brother needed more than love and company. He needed something to believe in. Maybe it had been Genji, once upon a time, but Hanzo was very adept at destroying his own brother. 

“Hanzo, I love you. And if I truly...if you truly meant what you said, if I sicken you, then maybe we should not be travelling together. It hurts you. It kills me. I don't want any of that.”

His tears were dangerously close again, but Genji firmly kept his face dry.

“I thought we could help each other. Be...happier. But we're monsters. We don't deserve it. And you don't deserve a brother that makes you sick.”

“No!”

He was standing. When had he stood up? Hanzo couldn’t remember the exact moment between his dry mouth and hammering heart. “No, I refuse, I will not allow it,” he said, speaking fast enough that the words threatened to mix into each other. “I can’t. I won’t let you.”

What would he do if Genji left him? What would be the point of living? He would have no one in the world left, not even a memory to use as his anchor. Losing Genji would make everything pointless.

He walked forward, seized his brother by his shoulders, and held him there as if to remind himself this was all still hypothetical and that Genji was still here. “I will die without you. Don’t - not that. There’s no point to this if you leave.”

Again, Hanzo was amazing at pulling in two directions. Genji knew now that they were bad for another. Anyone could see that, even the Shambali monks had, very delicately of course, touched on the subject. But Hanzo would be lost without him. And Genji, cut loose from purpose and his moral compass, would be too. He couldn't be himself, because it hurt Hanzo. He couldn't move in either direction.

“I can't fix being in love with you. What am I supposed to do, brother? Tell me. Tell me how to stop.”

“Then don’t.” Hanzo’s head bowed in defeat as he looked down between them, to the back of the couch that separated him from Genji. He examined its velvet surface until he could make out the individual patterns in the material, all of which gave him no answers on what to do. “I told you, Genji. You’ve made me sick too.”

Blonde hair, green hair, snapping instructions at Genji to a stranger, and daydreaming of someone else - what was this level of hell he’d inadvertently fallen into? Was karma finally visiting its harsh whip on him as punishment for everything Hanzo punished Genji for?

“With someone else… I see you. I talk to you, but you are not there. I think about you. I shouldn’t. I didn’t, not before, not like you. But now… I do.” His tongue felt as if it were burning. Hanzo wasn’t a man who flushed easily, but telling, mortified redness spread over his neck, his cheeks, and his ears. “Like you. Just like you.”

Hanzo had a great talent for not using definite words. They both understood what he meant, but it didn’t bring Genji any relief or elation. It just meant that his infection had spread to his brother and now they could both be unhappy about it.

To know that Hanzo had tried to sleep with someone else, though, that stirred an emotion that was brand new into the mix. Jealousy burned brighter than anything else. Hanzo had tried to forget Genji, forget what they meant to one another. Hanzo had tried to dilute their sickness with another person. Who that person was, that didn’t matter at all.

“Are you? Just like me?” Genji rose. He didn’t want to keep being lethargic anymore, not when Hanzo was trying for something he didn’t seem to understand himself.

“I did not will it.” Hanzo answered his question with something that was not an answer at all. He let go as Genji rose, and the couch remained between them - a border for two wary creatures. His heart leaped into his throat and did somersaults there, but he did not show it.

“It’s not right.”

“Neither is killing people and a plethora of other things we’ve done.” Genji countered, tired of the same argument. Why had Hanzo brought it up if he still wouldn’t let go and let it happen? Genji sagged a little, realizing that even with the vague anger of jealousy and frustration, he wouldn’t get anything from Hanzo.

“I’m in love with you. Stop telling me it’s wrong. I know that. I just...I don’t care anymore.”

Who was he to argue that they should care? Who was he to lecture his brother, this man who stood as a monument for Hanzo’s mistakes, on morality?

His eyes lowered from Genji’s face to his body. Much of him always reminded him that he could not, that this was his brother, that everyone and everything would curse him if he admitted his thoughts - and Hanzo had to recall the shameful moments, each and one, where his control was not nearly so rigid and he looked at Genji for longer than he should. He was attractive in a way no omnic could hope to mimic, with humanity imprinted into his posture, and even when Hanzo was too ashamed to look at his brother’s face, he still looked at his body.

“Can you forgive me?” he asked, voice hoarse. “Will you, for what I said?”

Did he even deserve it anymore? What more room could Genji’s heart have to forgive his brother so many trespasses?

An infinite number of room, apparently. Genji felt his anger crumble away again. Hanzo was lucky, beyond lucky, to have a brother such as him, though he would never dwell on this thought. The couch was still between them, but Genji could easily lean to reach across it. He probably shouldn’t forgive Hanzo, but he also probably shouldn’t love him as fervently as he did. He shouldn’t look upon his brother and the angry scowl usually on his face and feel ravenous desire for him. Genji had a lot of thoughts he should not have, and his heart bled readily for Hanzo, every time. He was the idiot brother, right?

“I can and...I will. If you meant what you said, I can forgive you for this too.”

“You know I don’t deserve it.” It didn’t stop him from hungrily taking it anyway. He was starved for it, after everything he’d done. Genji forgave him the world and Hanzo still reached for more. “You always forgive me. You should not.”

Hanzo walked around slowly, out of Genji’s reach, until the couch was no longer present and Genji could behold the guilt in Hanzo’s eyes from even closer. “Why? Love can’t cover so much. You can’t love me that much.”

What made Genji do this? How could someone like him be so valuable to someone like Genji?

“You’ve never been in love. You wouldn’t know.” Genji’s smile bordered on sad again. His brother’s self-esteem was as low as his own, if you stripped away the pretense of pride. Hanzo thought he was worthless, and that’s how the world ought to see him. They were, essentially, just as bad as the other. Genji was sick and Hanzo was hopeless.

What a pair they made.


	18. Chapter 18

What a pair they made.

But Genji tired of talking. He was not back to any kind of optimism, yet the yearning was becoming too much. Especially since Hanzo flip-flopped back to accepting his brother’s incestuous inclinations.

Maybe they shouldn’t be talking. Visor off and lips pressed together, Genji would see if this time, Hanzo could bear to look at him.

 

At first, Hanzo mistook Genji’s intentions. But even men as broken as they could be read, and Hanzo realized what he was looking for. This did not embarrass him as much as saying he wanted it did, paradoxically, but that wasn’t something to be thought of at the moment.

When he kissed Genji, again, it felt like coming home. It was familiar, comforting, and Hanzo dared, this time, to touch Genji. To not hold him, to not secure him, because that wasn’t what his hands were doing. He ran them over Genji’s shoulders, down his sides, until Hanzo was sure he could recreate Genji from touch alone.

They’d been in this situation many times before. Hanzo pushed aside Genji’s leg until he found a place for himself and they both went backwards onto the couch with Genji on top of him. He was not so heavy despite the body.

 

This time was different. Genji could taste it more than he could feel it. The warm weight of Hanzo under him was soothing away the endlessly depressing thoughts that had cycled through him for weeks. This might be exactly what he needed to feel better, but for obvious reasons, nothing like it had taken place since they left Shambali. 

He breathed his brother’s scent, for once not mingled too-heavily with alcohol and Genji relaxed. His body didn’t really show any signs of it, but his mind ceased running into walls and just idled for the moment.

“Hanzo...” he muttered, with no intention of saying something profound, hands as careful as could be as they sought to strip his brother down.

 

Together, they had Hanzo stripped of his shirt, of the loose veil he kept around his neck, and he lay there, barechested. Hanzo looked up at him, his hands around Genji’s thighs, and swallowed as something warm settled in his stomach. Genji’s weight was undeniable, unignorable, reminding Hanzo that he could not slip away from this like he often did.

He wasn’t drunk, like he was the other times they fucked. Hanzo usually preferred to be tipsy just to get past the wall in his mind. Frighteningly, nakedly sober, he looked at Genji as if seeing him for the first time.

It felt as if lightning brushed up his fingers as he settled his hands on Genji’s hips. “Are you certain?” he asked, even though the answer was always the same.

 

“There’s not much in life I can be certain of anymore. But I want you, and I love you. Know that, Hanzo,” Genji decided, somewhere around realizing his brother would truly fall apart if they parted company and understanding that he was worth as little as Hanzo for different sins, that he didn’t care about boundaries any longer. He’d felt guilty for long enough, punished himself for his sickness long enough. If Hanzo wouldn’t do it either, he was going to make it into something new. Something that only belonged to the two of them.

Maybe Hanzo was a little right about Genji’s natural optimism, because a tiny part of him was already trying to wrestle with the idea that maybe they could do something good, at least for each other.

Genji wished there was more of him to show than his face, but his eyes, soft and attentive, were all he could express himself with anymore.

 

Such certainty. Such faith. Even after being burnt, Genji came back running. It awed Hanzo. It frightened Hanzo.

“Fuck me,” he said, in an echo of that night in the monastery. “I’m not drunk. We didn’t fight… much. You don’t have an excuse.”

Would his request be rejected again? Hanzo searched Genji’s face, trying to find the answer before he opened his mouth.

 

He wouldn’t get anything from Genji’s face, except for hesitation. Genji turned the situation over, examined the words they’d shared, Hanzo’s desperation to awaken hope again within his brother. Not for the causes that Genji believed, but hope for anything at all. It frightened Hanzo, to see Genji as lost as he. It was...humbling and infuriating in one. The fool leading the blind, if you will.

And he could dwell on it later, when his phantom limbs didn’t crave to cradle Hanzo as close as he possibly could.

“Very well,” Genji finally answered, lowering his head so that his lips could find his brother’s warm skin. He’d honor the request, this time. Hanzo needed him to.

 

Hanzo closed his eyes. His heart trembled. He’d gotten what he asked for, but what had he asked for?

Dim memories from a lifetime before came to him, but they were ghostly substitutes to reality. They’d only done this with Genji as the passive party and even that had been sporadic and dependent on Hanzo’s temperament. They were crossing a new line this time.

“My -  my bag,” he said, pointing behind Genji. “I have… supplies.”

 

Supplies? Oh, right, this wouldn’t be as easy as it was for him. Genji didn’t want to think about all the necessary steps right now, not when he could hear Hanzo’s heart start to race when he pressed his head to his brother’s chest. He wanted to create a certain mood, and he was in no mind to rush any of this. His brother’s practical impatience would just have to wait right now.

“Hanzo, you’re way too tense,” he scolded gently as he concentrated on mapping out his brother’s body with his mouth. It was the only part of him that was really left, and it meant far more than any other part of what they’d just loosely decided on. This part of Genji was real and could feel and taste and that’s what he wanted to do. As much of Hanzo as he could possibly get.

“At least let me pretend that I make you happy,” he muttered.

 

“You don’t have to pretend,” Hanzo said, “I would have died without you.”

He shivered when Genji’s tongue slipped down his skin. He liked to toy, he always did, but Hanzo wasn’t familiar with this sort of intimacy. Even his partners, back then, had been intimidated into compliance by the tattoo on his arm and the name behind his words. But that mattered nothing now, so Hanzo lay on his back, twitching as he tried to control his heart rate.

Goosebumps raced up his arms. Hanzo wanted to reach out and touch Genji, but his grasping hands found metal that did not yield. He held on anyway, squeezing as if he would fall otherwise.

 

The ink under Hanzo’s skin, the power of his name, and the history of blood clinging to his every word mattered little to Genji. He stripped away the layers of what encased his brother, to find the man that he could forgive anything. Hanzo was not nearly as proud and cold as he gave himself to be, and it humbled Genji to know he was the only one to see it. 

It was a substantial part of what brought him to keep returning for Hanzo, even after every time his brother cut him apart. Hanzo needed Genji so, so much more than Genji needed him. But if you loved someone, truly, then you didn’t abandon them, just because they hurt you. You had to get to the bottom of their hurt and stick it out. 

Or at least, that was somewhat how Genji rationalized his own behavior. 

He indulged on Hanzo’s skin, pressed soft kisses into his hipbone and thigh. Hanzo needed to feel much more than hear that Genji wanted him, as he was, through every ugly thing they did to each other. Hanzo, in his hopeless, bitter self, was what Genji needed to hope for. 

It was a lot of thought to be having whilst licking and kissing his way past his brother’s cock, but Genji was fairly good at multitasking. He wasn’t going to simply shove a few fingers drenched in lube into his brother, followed by his polymer dick. No, he was going to make Hanzo feel good enough to let go, for once.

 

“What are you doing?” Hanzo’s impatience was sourced in nerves, but his cutting tone neatly concealed all of that. When Genji’s head disappeared down, he assumed, at first, that Genji meant to blow him. A welcome state of affairs, normally, but what caught his attention was that Genji continued past that point.

When his legs were hoisted into the air, Hanzo almost twisted away in alarm. Only trust, iron-clad and reinforced, kept him from acting. Trust, he had to trust, even when Genji was -

“ _ Genji _ !”

Hanzo ended up digging his fingers into the couch hard enough to rip the velvet. Stuffing floated down his wrist as he went through a harsh series of convulsions that competed for dominance - a part of him tried to move away, another part tried to attack, while the rest reminded him this was Genji and he was to be trusted.

“What are you  _ doing _ ?” Hanzo hissed down, mortified.

 

Genji only lifted his head because Hanzo was struggling like a cat caught in a sack. He licked his lips unconsciously, appreciating the fluster in his brother’s expression and skin. Hanzo was one of the most ruthless mercenaries in the world, and now he looked delectably flushed and embarrassed. Genji would have liked to burn this image into his mind permanently.

“Do you trust me, Hanzo?” he asked softly, fingers caressing his brother’s thighs, drumming a little tune on the lovely skin.

 

“Of course,” Hanzo said automatically, then narrowed his eyes. “But that wasn’t my question.”

Their position was faintly ridiculous and his legs continued to dangle over Genji’s shoulders. Hanzo slowly pulled his hand away from the large rip in the couch, shaking the stuffing off of his fingers. “You never did that. Before.”

 

“We’ve never done it like this before.” Genji wanted to seem encouraging, but if he grinned at Hanzo right now, he was likely to be punched rather than appreciated and so, he dipped his head back down. Maybe action would speak louder than words, as usual, with Hanzo.

He didn’t stuff his tongue into his brother immediately, but he wasn’t going to deceive Hanzo any longer, his intentions were very clear. Genji made sure to hold Hanzo’s hips still and ignored the way his own heart was racing.

 

Now that he knew what was coming, Hanzo didn’t quite writhe like a caught eel. It wasn’t awful, like he’d feared, but it was new and so he needed to spend a few moments getting accustomed to the feeling. When that passed, he found himself slowly relaxing into the sensation.

Genji wasn’t rushing, to his credit. Hanzo would have only tensed up further if he did, but he took his time and Hanzo silently approved as he sank back onto the couch with a low sigh. It felt… it was hard to describe. Thinking too much about the mechanics of it wasn’t welcoming, so Hanzo looked to the side while his hand went down to touch Genji’s head.

He found one of those strange, antenna-like things that jut out from each side. Hanzo grabbed one - the right one - and held it tightly. He tensed briefly when Genji moved and breathed out slowly, rattling on the exhale as his body broke into shudders.

This was new. It was strange. But he wasn’t pushing Genji away and he was hard, and that was telling in of itself.

 

Genji was pleased with his progress so far. Hanzo had not squirmed away from him, and right now, he was breathing pretty heavily as he held onto Genji for support. It wasn’t often that Hanzo really gave Genji a chance to watch him like this, so the younger Shimada drank it in greedily for a second. 

“Good, you’re relaxing,” he muttered, not really talking to Hanzo and not really allowing him a chance for a reply. It wasn’t entirely new to Genji. Gods, no. When he’d been younger, and chased every high he could, sex had been one of the vices he freely indulged in, much to the disappointment of the rest of the family. 

He’d had plenty of practice, with his old body. The human one, that could look enticing and be warm and hot and good to look at. Now, Genji only had his mouth and eyes, essentially. Everything he felt through the cybernetics was secondhand feedback, and it was only his innate desire for Hanzo that had him accept any of it as satisfying. 

So yeah, this was new, and important. Hanzo’s body relaxed in increments, and those, Genji kept careful track of. Whenever his brother tensed up, Genji eased off, working on the marks he was leaving on the insides of Hanzo’s thighs, caressing and mouthing at his brother’s balls until he relaxed again. Preparation and patience were key.

 

Sometimes, Hanzo wondered where Genji picked all of this up. How many people did he have to sleep with to make this natural? Had he been taught, or just learned on the go? What about him was so welcoming that people relaxed without thinking, and just fell in and out of his bed?

He was quiet and the only times he betrayed his arousal was when his breathing stuttered, becoming quick when Genji moved his mouth cleverly or almost stopping entirely when he did something Hanzo had no name for. His hands flexed, then let go, and Hanzo felt like he was getting played like an instrument with the grace of nothing but a mouth.

It wasn’t something he minded too deeply, really.

He stopped pulling the stuffing out of the couch. While Genji proved that his years spent wandering were not entirely wasted, Hanzo stroked himself. He was more erratic than he liked - Genji’s fault, for doing things with his mouth that had to belong in some circle of hell somewhere - but he’d a good pace going.

“You’re -” he stopped so he didn’t swallow his tongue, and spent a few moments laying there marshalling his thoughts, “you’re taking a long time.”

 

“Are you not enjoying it?” Genji looked up again, eyeing the firm palm around Hanzo’s dick and the impatience on his brother’s face. Very, very typical Hanzo. He just didn’t know how to wait for something good. And yet, he’d given Genji countless tiny lectures about patience and all that crap when they were younger.

But Genji was benevolent tonight, and proving his love to his brother was at the top of his agenda. He could fetch the convenient lube at any moment, really, but he wanted to make sure Hanzo was panting and good to go. 

 

“I am,” he murmured, “it’s just… not what I was picturing.”

That still didn’t come out right. How was he to explain that he liked this, he wanted more of this, but this wasn’t  _ just _ sex? Of the invasive thoughts that infected his mind, this wasn’t what was featured. It was Genji, but not like the usual - he wasn’t as kind or as warm. Angrier. Harsher.  _ Rougher _ . Perhaps he blamed Hanzo for what he should be blamed for. Perhaps he punished him.

“Never mind,” he said as his thoughts took a darker turn and tightened his knees around Genji’s neck. “Forget it.”

That wouldn’t be fair to Genji. Not when he was trying so hard. He didn’t deserve to have that kind of fantasy thrust upon him.

 

Hanzo didn’t need to explain what he was picturing. It wasn’t a far stretch to remember what kind of mood he’d been in, every previous instance of him asking to be fucked. Hanzo saw it as punishment of sorts and here was Genji, working on the opposite.

“Don’t shut me out again,” he warned, freeing himself of his brother’s locked knees and leaning over him, stroking Hanzo’s face instead. He did want to continue, but Hanzo tended to make things difficult and clouded with too much meaning.

Without waiting any longer, Genji lifted himself off of his brother to fetch the aforementioned materials. The winking strawberry with its tongue lolling out was enough to make him choke down a snort of laughter.

“... _ Saucy strawberry _ , brother?”

 

The rising tension popped like a soap bubble. Hanzo let out a sound that wasn’t a laugh or a snort, but unholy spawn of both, and he covered his eyes with a hand. “I did not buy that,” he said, “I… relieved someone else of it. Their nose was broken - they did not need it.”

He saw Genji looking at the bottle. “I should have thrown it off the side of that mountain,” Hanzo muttered to himself, “don’t ask me why I kept it.”

In the classy room of the Carlton, with Hanzo draped across the crushed velvet couch, naked and flushed, the hot pink bottle was a splash of reality. Hanzo eyed Genji, chest heaving still as he caught his breath.

 

Genji waited until he met Hanzo’s eyes, then let a smile light up his face. He wasn’t laughing at Hanzo or the fact that someone’s nose was broken over lube, but the sheer ridiculousness of this little pink thing in his hand. He made it back over to the couch, mood much lighter than it had been for weeks.

“I won’t ask why you kept it, I know you wanted me to use it. I shall make your wish come true, brother.”

So what if he was being ridiculous? Things had been too heavy and moody for him to bear for a while now (mostly since Hanzo broke his heart, again). A little humor would do them both a world of good. Genji cheerily slathered some saucy, scented lube onto his fingers.

 

Hanzo sat up, a rueful smile dancing around his mouth in mirror of Genji’s. “I never used that thing,” he said, “I don’t know if it’s any good.”

He eyed the label. A big part of him was even embarrassed to simply behold its offensively bright and cheery lettering, happily declaring its virtues with frank, lascivious wording. The scent of artificial strawberry was strong, and Hanzo’s nose wrinkled.

“Genji -” he started, about to warn him, but then thought better of it. Instead, wordless, Hanzo pulled his brother’s wrist to drag him closer.

Which was convenient, because Genji had just about been ready to return and descend upon his brother. With the mood lightened so significantly, he found it easy to sink into an old, familiar rhythm. His fingers were delicate in their touch, but no longer patient. Sinking two in at once was easy enough and Genji felt a distant fire kindled within him. Ah. Okay. Arousal was as much mental as it was physical. 

“Hanzo,” his voice dropped low again and he hunted down Hanzo’s mouth for a hungry kiss. Gone was the apathetic depression he’d woken up with this morning.

 

“Genji,” Hanzo said with a low sigh and his head fell back while his legs, after an initial jump, fell apart to let him in. He breathed a rattling, shaky exhale into Genji’s mouth, feeling as if something inside him might burst, and let his brother fall upon him fully. They kissed heatedly and Hanzo’s hand went to hold Genji’s back.

This wasn’t so bad. Genji’s fingers were hard but they were slick, and Hanzo felt no pain when he pushed them into him. Relaxation let them inch deeper and Hanzo, bolstered by the lack of pain, let his knees part until Genji could fit in between them.

 

Genji felt no resistance at all from Hanzo, and that encouraged him for what needed to happen next. The kissing was languid, the hiss from Genji’s panel release was not. He was already between Hanzo’s legs. It wasn’t much of a stretch to move a little more into position, either. The kiss was still distracting enough though for Genji to close his eyes and focus on how Hanzo’s tongue moved against his own, how his teeth sometimes knocked into his lips, and how great his brother tasted. 

He couldn’t wait much longer. Two gentle fingers had become three, fucking Hanzo a little more impatiently. Even an eager Genji wouldn’t rush through this. Not when he actually cared about his partner.

 

The noise of the panel alerted Hanzo. He was familiar with its typical pneumatic hiss. Ears pricked, Hanzo looked down. There it was - he’d seen it often enough, given their close nature, but not in this context. Suddenly, he found himself considering its size and length, as if to see how it might fit in him.

Three fingers pushed deeper yet, and Hanzo shivered all over. He wasn’t a loud person in bed, never was, but his breathing grew a little harsher. He swallowed. This was happening. It was real.

Reflexively, he tightened around the fingers inside him and swallowed a little harder as small stars burst into life and death in his eyes. On a whim, he reached down and took hold of Genji’s cock just to to feel it. It was as artificial as the rest of him, and as unyielding. Not cold, as Hanzo thought it might be, but warm as human skin.

 

It would be very inconvenient to have a cold, metal cock. Genji didn’t want to think on why he had it in the first place, but in moments like these, he thanked the advancement of science and medicine for his private miracle.

“Does it feel...bad?” he questioned carefully, considering Hanzo’s grasp prevented anything further from happening with said artificial dick.

 

“What? No.” Hanzo gave it an experimental squeeze, too curious not to. He had to be able to feel with it, right? It would not make sense for him not to. Hanzo remembered them experimenting with his body after Genji first received it - yes, he definitely knew it worked.

“Why? Is something wrong?” He looked to his brother’s face to see any trace of discomfort there. If Genji wasn’t happy, Hanzo would stop this.

 

“No,” Genji tried not to sound too smug, Hanzo had basically approved his equipment and was still invitingly laying with his legs apart. If that wasn’t a sight to heal the blind, Genji didn’t know what was.

“I can feel your touch, but it’s not the same. Can I continue?”

Hanzo might scold him for asking so much, but Genji knew very well how unpleasant an uncoordinated fuck could be.

 

“Did I tell you to stop?” Hanzo didn’t ask what ‘not the same’ meant, knowing Genji disliked to dwell on such matters. Instead, he let go and - after a slight moment of self-consciousness - wrapped his legs around his brother’s waist. His cock leant to one side, where Hanzo’s thigh was growing tender after Genji took his sweet time there.

Happening. Real. All real. Hanzo’s mouth felt drier than a desert and he was, this time, unable to look away from Genji. Their eyes met and Hanzo’s breath grew short as the enormity of what was happening hit him. This was perhaps the most exposing part - even more than being naked, even more than feeling Genji’s head between his legs.

“Go ahead,” Hanzo said, “fuck me.”

 

Even though Hanzo had a talent for ruining things with just a couple of words, he couldn’t do so here and now. Not this time. Genji didn’t wait any longer, moving to fit himself inside. Slowly, of course, but with the plentiful preparation he’d already dedicated himself to, Hanzo was relaxed plenty.

It was a little surreal, to finally do things like this. Not so much that Genji was about to fuck Hanzo, but that his brother was looking at him, without disgust, hot to the touch and eagerly molding their bodies to fit together.

Some part of Genji was euphoric, the rest was ravenous. He lost his good manners and patience for a moment as he pushed in hard and deep, Hanzo’s name wrapped in a growl torn loose from his throat.

 

He thought he was ready. The jump from fingers to a dick couldn’t be that great, right?

He was, he found out, more than a little wrong.

He inhaled sharply as Genji thrust into him and filled him in one swift motion. It wasn’t painful, they’d taken steps against that, but it was overwhelming. Hanzo almost pushed him away but instead he stilled for a moment, panting, and finally, moved. He shifted to try to make himself more comfortable but Genji pushed deeper still, until Hanzo thought there was no more to go.

“Genji,” he hissed and the tipping point was now. Genji’s name became a groan, throaty and low, and Hanzo had to lay back. Moving made him hyper-aware of what was in him, opening him up, and Hanzo looked up at Genji again, as if to confirm this. Real. Happening. Hanzo had found it hard to look at Genji before - now, he found it impossible to tear his eyes away from him.

 

Genji was feeling overwhelmed in an entirely different manner, because his cybernetic body was surprisingly good at translating the sensors to his nerves and into feelings. He was inside of Hanzo. He was the reason that his older brother was flustered and breathing hard and groaning his name. That was already enough to make him orgasm right there, but Genji had plans for this event, even if it had been unexpected. He was going to make Hanzo stop thinking, stop that eternally bitter cycle of his thoughts, even if it was just for five or ten minutes.

Slowly, he pulled himself back a little, testing what made Hanzo squirm and what felt like the right place to rub harder. It was just a little surreal to not feel it on his skin, and some part of him mourned it, but most of him was grateful to do this at all.

Genji focused on slowly building a rhythm and wasted no more time with talk.

 

Genji certainly did not dawdle. Hanzo wanted to tell him to slow down but also wanted him to keep going. The conflicted two thoughts stopped each other, and Hanzo grabbed Genji’s shoulders to hold himself instead.

Someone was breathing hard. After a while, Hanzo realized it was him. His legs squeezed Genji closer in still, tried to pull him in deeper, and Hanzo must’ve looked like a mess right now because he felt like one. He was hot all over, too overwhelmed to realize what he was doing, holding onto Genji as he said his name until it was all just meaningless noise and he was gasping.

The room spun a little when Hanzo opened his eyes. The light glimmer of green around Genji’s shoulder caught his attention, and when he looked there, he tripped over Genji’s warm gaze instead. It was adoring, wet and brown and human, and Hanzo felt flayed by the intensity of it. It was too much, but he could not escape it this time, not with harsh words nor absent sex, not when he was barely holding together it was.

 

Genji silently demanded Hanzo’s attention, and once he had it, he would never surrender it again. The man in his arms was his entire world, brother or not. He could never truly have walked away from him, and he knew that too. 

Right now, however, that was not on his mind. The way Hanzo felt and looked was...fragile. Not to the touch, but the sheer, raw emotion on his face? Genji swallowed, heavily, and kissed him again, wanting this part of Hanzo more than anything else. If he could just feel good now and accept this between them as not sick, a lot of Genji’s problems would solve themselves. Hanzo didn’t need to become a different person altogether, but he did need to accept at least one part of all of this.

 

Old Japanese folktales were fond of stories about seducers whittling away at the morals of heroes. Genji was no seducer and Hanzo was no hero, and he wasn’t even sure who was whittling away at whose morality, but they were surely falling off the path of absolution like this. But Genji kissed him sweetly, as if Hanzo hadn’t put a sword through his chest, as if Hanzo didn’t rip his world to pieces with his words, as if all was well as long as Hanzo kissed him back.

He did, and he did it willingly. Guilt or hate or whatever emotion passed for Hanzo’s normal these days didn’t taint this. The voice of their father, whispering  _ sick _ , didn’t intrude on this. Hanzo took hold of the back of Genji’s head, cradled it, and rose off the couch with an elbow to support himself as he kissed him back. His legs closed around Genji, pulled him in, held him, and Hanzo had his brother, from mouth to cock, without a single fucking excuse.

Hell waited for them in death. For now, however, they could make their lives less of a hell of its own. 

 

Genji couldn’t often claim to be happy, but right now, with Hanzo, he was. He’d left behind many lives, but never his brother. Their kiss made his heart pound madly and he knew this couldn’t be as sick as he always told himself it was. Hanzo needed it too, else he wouldn’t be here like this.

Genji continued thrusting into him, firm but careful, cradling as much of Hanzo as close as humanly possible. The world could be burning right now, Genji would not care. His whole world was right here, in this bitter, human package, and currently moaning his name and riding his cock. He couldn’t have asked for a better resolution to his depression.


	19. Chapter 19

 

They shared the bed that night. Genji did not need to sleep, obviously, but Hanzo liked it when he stayed in bed in a facsimile of it, so Genji inevitably ended up under the sheets with him. Hanzo slept as naked as the day he was born, faced away from Genji on his chest. His black hair sprawled across the white silk pillows and the stressed, early silvers around his temples glowed in the moonlight.

The night was peaceful. Hanzo left the windows open, trusting Genji to keep watch, and the cool sea air swept in and carried the smell of sex away. Hanzo slept soundly, body loose for once, and didn’t even stir when Genji watched him.

It was good. It was… nice.

Hanzo woke early. He didn’t snap into awareness either - no, this was the satisfied waking of someone who’d gotten something they needed without even knowing they needed it. He stretched leisurely and turned to find his brother. His eyes were soft, trusting.

“Mornin’.”

 

Genji had not slept a wink. His night had been spent in thought, following the bliss of having sex with Hanzo that didn't make him hate himself. He'd held his brother, all night long, holding  silent vigil and promising not to lose himself again. Because if he did, Hanzo would be entirely gone. Hanzo needed Genji. As his compass, as his companion, as his lover. 

Genji understood it now, and even the lessons he learned in Shambali lent themselves to his new understanding; he could survive anything and everything, because this was what he was supposed to do. To save Hanzo from the ruin the yakuza life brought upon him, Genji had to believe in himself and accept his new life. It wasn't as simple as being a hero and killing bad people. That was just something Genji was capable of. His true, heroic goal, was to save his brother, just as he wanted to when he was a child.

All of his personal epiphany, however, would have to be kept to himself.

“Morning. Are you sore? I can get you something to numb.”

 

“What? No, no… don’t bother.”

The mild soreness he felt wasn’t enough to warrant treatment. He’d toughed through worse. Hanzo stretched and felt a delicious burn flush through his muscles. He let it linger, felt it spread through him, and bring wakefulness with it. “You are still here,” he commented, “you do not usually stay so long.”

Hanzo had grown accustomed to waking up alone. Genji was a restless person and Hanzo wouldn’t ask him to stay anyway.

He tried to sit up, then winced and laid back down. Soreness flared up, telling Hanzo that it wasn’t actually as light as he thought.

 

“I’ve been thinking.”

A lot, actually. Genji had nothing but time, and found that in bed, with a peacefully asleep Hanzo, was the best time for him to be figuring things out. And it had been a big revelation, the last night. Genji wasn’t really sure if he was awake right now. He didn’t feel sharp or attentive, much the opposite. He was fine with staying right here, because his head was finally clear.

“About you, mostly. And me, and what we should do.”

Genji shifted so he could rest his head on Hanzo’s inked shoulder. He felt the dragons underneath his skin, rising up to softly brush against him with their ethereal, blue-scaled bodies. 

“I want you to stop hating yourself. I know it’s a lot to ask, but what you said to me, how you made me feel in Shambali, it bore your soul to me. You cannot go through the rest of your life with so much self-loathing inside of you, brother. It will poison you, and me. I have forgiven you. I will forgive you, anything and everything. Why can you not forgive yourself?”

 

Genji certainly did not waste time. Hanzo felt the sleep drain out of him like cold water out of a pipe - it trickled and dripped, leaving cold mist behind.

“We haven’t even had breakfast,” Hanzo said after staying quiet until the silence grew pregnant, gave birth, and retired. “This is not something that is important.”

Genji would pursue this. Of course he would, Hanzo had no hope for otherwise. But he wanted to speak about it when he wasn’t naked in bed, sore enough to avoid sitting up, and tasting morning breath.

“I’ve changed my mind. I am sore. Find me something for it.”

 

In typical Hanzo fashion, the subject was avoided and sealed behind a door with the key thrown away. Genji sighed and kissed his brother’s shoulder, rising from the bed. He didn’t want to argue with Hanzo, and maybe there was something to be said about timing, but he wouldn’t press the issue now. He’d said his piece and Hanzo could think about it or turn over and go back to sleep. Genji would take his battles where and when he saw fit. For now, he could occupy himself with tracking down some painkillers and breakfast.

 

Genji was a man with many flaws. He had many vices and his temper still had something to fix, and that wasn’t even addressing half of what he’d done with Hanzo.

But he had  _ never _ been bad at picking food.

He brought painkillers and cooling gel as well, but that wasn’t what Hanzo’s attention was occupied by. No, no, the king’s feast he brought up took precedence.

It had been brought to him on a trolley because it’d been too big to be carried otherwise. It’d taken Hanzo a whole  _ minute _ to unload onto the table. Slices of crusty brown bread, still warm from the oven, had been slathered with soft cheeses mixed with spice. Fresh olives lay in beds of thin-sliced hams and cold cuts - beef, pork, and lamb. Round white bowls carried mixed fruits - Hanzo recognized most, but not the white one with black pits or the fiery red one - with tiny forks balanced on the side for easy picking. Peppered eggs, toasted pita bread, and some kind of thin, slightly salty soup finished it. Hanzo took a few seconds to decide what to eat, before finally settling on all of it.

“Eat,” he said, looking at Genji, who’d yet to touch anything, “it’s good.”

 

Genji had picked everything he would have liked to eat after an exhausting night. He had a long track record of trawling to restaurants after spending a night or two partying. Expensive food, cheap food, anything would do for a hungry dragon. The hotel had offered all sorts of cuisine and Genji had damn near brought all of it.

Now though, he was sitting across the bed (fresh sheets) and looked somewhat confused. In all their time spent together, Hanzo had never seen him eat anything. Years together, and he didn’t notice the small detail of his brother’s habits?

“It’s for you. I don’t need food.”

He used to need charge and maintenance, but his updated body had eliminated the need for that too.

 

“But you can eat?” Hanzo said, swallowing eggs. “I know you don’t need to. But you can for flavor.”

He speared a chunk of cantaloupe with his fork and held it out. “Eat it.”

 

Genji didn’t often make use of the natural, inherent Shimada bitchface, but in this case, he would. Hanzo was doing everything in order to avoid a conversation, wasn’t he? His brother could be so obstinate that it no longer struck Genji as funny or charming. Hanzo was obscuring their revelation, which had yet to be clarified between the two of them.

“Hanzo, it’s a waste. You should eat it.”

 

“I couldn’t eat all of this even if I had three other copies of myself here.” Hanzo’s gaze turned sly. “Open your mouth, Genji. Let the plane fly in.”

He moved the fork through the air, waving and dipping it, all while looking at his brother. “I remember doing this, back when we were younger. You were a picky child. I was the only one who could convince you to eat.”

 

Genji was just about to tell Hanzo where the plane could land, but the quick reminder of their childhood was enough to make him feel guilty about dismissing Hanzo’s absurd actions. He narrowed his eyes as he leaned forward.

“You didn’t convince me. You cut deals with a six year-old.”

 

“I negotiated a compromise with a difficult and unyielding foe,” Hanzo retorted as he stuck the fork into Genji’s waiting mouth. He slid the cantaloupe off and tapped his nose with the fork. “You were such a sucker for ten-yen candy.”

He speared another piece of fruit and held it out. “I don’t have candy on me right now, but take pity on your elderly brother and eat for his sake.”

 

Genji sighed and chewed. It wasn’t like he forgot that food tasted good, it was just that it reminded him of how not human he was when he had to spit it out, considering his stomach was long-gone.

“I do a lot of things for my elderly brother,” he muttered, taking the next offering without resistance. If Hanzo was delving into nostalgic memories of their childhood, he could stand to chew a little breakfast. Anything to thaw Hanzo’s heart, right?

“I don’t really like candy anymore.”

 

Hanzo reached out and touched his thumb to Genji’s nose. He slid it down that ski-slope bridge and flicked the tip. “Are you in this mood,” he asked, “because I don’t want to talk about my - quote ‘self-loathing’ unquote?”

Hanzo crossed his legs. “I don’t hate myself, Genji. That would imply an irrational emotion. What I feel is… entirely deserved.”

 

“I’m not in a mood, Hanzo, and you don’t have to lie to me. What you feel goes far beyond what you deserve.” Genji searched for an empty bowl to discard the chewed food into, as discreetly as possible. He sighed again, rubbing a hand over his scarred face.

“You need to let go of all this. The weight of our past. I know you, and I know how long you hold onto things. We can’t move forward together if you’re always dragging this with you. You don’t need to punish yourself forever.”

 

“And do what? Come to terms with what I am? I know what I am. That is what I punish myself for.” Hanzo stopped trying to tempt Genji to eat. Instead, he dropped his fork and picked at the caviar instead. “You think too highly of me, Genji. If I do not remember my crimes, I will commit them again. That is the truth.”

He was not a good man. He never had been a good man. The council may have pressured him into it, but the hand and heart behind the sword had been that of Shimada Hanzo. “Charity forgives a mad dog for biting. Wisdom keeps it muzzled.”

 

“And common sense dictates it was driven to bite in the first place.” Genji raised a brow, tempted to shake his head until Hanzo made sense. Or maybe he should be shaking Hanzo instead. At least he was taken care of this time, and not in reach of any drink or ill-advised company. Genji was angry, yes, but the concern for Hanzo held him in place to consider what he could do to care for his stubborn brother.

“Do you want to be a bad man, Hanzo? Does it make you happy? It is an honest question, and I want you to think about it before you answer me.”

 

“Some creatures need only be shown something before they attack.” Hanzo disliked Genji’s line of questioning, asked so blithely, banking on the reassurance that Hanzo must surely care something for his moral character. “Want? It is not a matter of want.”

The food lost its luster. Hanzo got up and moved to dress. “I don’t care,” he said, voice tight, “perhaps I did, once, but not anymore.”

He went to his closet. Inside, pressed slacks and long-sleeves awaited. He could wear something more to his tastes, but it would not fit in here. There was a time and place for individuality.

“Did you know what I did in Yokohama?” he asked over his shoulder. Underwear, slacks, shirt - he pulled them out and laid them out on the bed. Today was another warm day - something light and loose would be necessary. “I practiced what I would take control of. Racketeering. Pimping. Blackmail. Arms dealing. Drugs trafficking. I watched men do it and then they taught me how to mimic them.”

He would not tie his hair. It got annoying trying to navigate that with his headscarf. “I knew what duty held for me, Genji. I knew what sort of men I would lead and what blood would be on my hands. After the first year…” He curled his scarf around his neck. “... well, it stopped mattering. It’s not a question of want nor a question of happiness. That would require an emotional connection to it.”

 

“That’s not your life anymore. And it never will be, again.” Genji let him go about getting dressed, but he wouldn’t allow Hanzo to escape the conversation. They were talking a lot, it seemed, but it was so desperately necessary, he couldn’t waste an instance of it. No matter how tired he was.

“Do you understand that, at least? You are never going back to that life. Neither of us ever will.”

 

“No. We will not go back to it,” Hanzo agreed. “But the skills they taught me will stay. What you ask of me, Genji, is all based on the assumption that I want to be a good man. That I want to be a better man. But I do not. I will not. All I want is to have control over who I am and that requires remembering  _ what _ I am.”

The scarf went around his head, protecting him from the harsh sun. “Let’s walk outside,” he said, “cover yourself. I’m tired of this room.”

 

“Fine.” Genji had not actually been outside of the room, too lethargic previously to take much interest in the location of their hotel. Or, you know, the world at large around them.

It was beautiful, though, even he couldn’t deny that. Genji had never been here before, but it held a lot of the kind of paradise kitsch that people dreamed of escaping to. Normal people, not the two of them. 

Covering his body wasn’t particularly difficult, given that his proportions were still very much human. His head was the most telling, so they’d wrapped it up completely. Goggles covered his visor and overall, he was much more dressed for a desert than the beach, but it wasn’t the weirdest thing on the streets. He might as well be a bodyguard omnic to Hanzo.

“Have you been here before?”

 

“Only once, before father died -  _ what _ are you wearing?” Hanzo looked at his brother, who was dressed like a fantasy novel character. His human features were well disguised, but he stood out. A  _ lot. _

“We’re not wanderers in a post-apocalyptic setting, Genji, where did you even  _ find _ this?” He pushed a finger into the blue belt that Genji had scrounged up somewhere. “And this - are you serious? Garters?”

He critically tugged on the ring holding up a completely unnecessary band of cloth around his brother’s thigh. “We’re not going to a convention.”

 

“It’s this or I am a bright, shining light of omnic design.” Genji saw nothing wrong with what he was wearing. He looked like the kind of omnic guard you dragged into the desert to see you through, or an eccentric collectible. Either way, he looked weird enough not to be approached or questioned and that was the point.

“It’s not a garter. It’s...tactical.”

 

“Tactically catching eyes,” Hanzo grumbled but eased off. Fine, if Genji wanted to walk outside looking like some… omnic cruiser, that was his prerogative. If anyone whistled at him, Hanzo was going to leave him behind.

Now that they were ready, a second thought occurred to Hanzo. His cover at the lobby required he look rich - that was the point. Hanzo was a rich businessman looking to stay in Turkey in comfort. He dressed luxuriously, walked arrogantly, acted the way the one percent was expected to act - except now he had his brother to deal with. Most people would assume he was walking with some omnic of some sort. The sort only the wealthy had.

A bodyguard… or something else.

His eyes closed briefly as Hanzo sighed, long and put-upon. It was too late now. He stepped out with Genji in tow and eyes immediately snapped to them.

Hell, what was the  _ point _ of covers and different clothes if they were this  _ recognizable _ ?

 

Their appearance was of no significance to Genji’s thoughts. Hanzo’s words in their conversation, however, definitely were. He’d evaded answering the question, of course, but not in a manner that suggested he would never return to it. Genji’s impatience demanded a revelation, now, in his brother’s head. The rest of him argued, albeit weakly, that he should be content with getting Hanzo to this point already.

“Where are we going?”

 

“The beach,” Hanzo said. He put on sunglasses and slowly strolled down the boardwalk that lead from the Carlton. It was a long, wide walkway, filled with people in summer dress, taking pictures, eating, laughing. Hanzo stuck to the edges as he walked towards the ocean. “Stick close to me.”

A wide-eyed little girl stared at Genji. She nudged her brother, who tried to touch his sticky fingers to the shiny leg swinging past him. Genji, in all his omnic-lookalike glory, was an instant hit with all the little children attracted to shiny things. Hanzo brushed by them, ignoring the gaggle of little boys and girls gaping at Genji’s high-tech awesomeness.

 

Children trailed them like flies. Genji wasn’t used to them anymore, or their easy attraction to metal, shining parts. As if their parents had never taught them to steer clear of omnics. He didn’t pay them any mind, though he certainly made sure that they never touched him. What did they think he was? Had they never seen anything like him before?

He somehow doubted that his terrible disguise had anything to do with it.

“We are being followed.”

 

“What ingenious observations you make.” Hanzo moved like he didn’t notice the world around him. It was simply expected to make way for him. “C’mon, I tire of them. Let’s get off this boardwalk before they decide to ask for  _ pictures.” _

He took Genji’s elbow and looped it around his. Hanzo directed him to the side so they walked off the boardwalk and onto the gritty preclude of the beaches. Grit became sand, soft and hot, and the ocean waves battered the shore. Hanzo led them away from the people.

“Isn’t it strange? After everything we’ve done, we walk among people like we’re one of them.”

 

“I don’t think it strange at all. Just because we walk among them, doesn’t mean we belong.” Genji allowed himself to be lead. He’d walk forever if that was Hanzo’s intention, but most likely another philosophical debate was at hand. Good. They needed to continue, because if he allowed Hanzo to stop thinking about it, he’d brood and close up once more. Talking to his brother about morality was like holding open a lion’s mouth, with the lion in a hungry and cantankerous mood.

“I’ve never felt like I belonged anywhere.”

 

“Not even with Overwatch? They saved your life. They called themselves your friends.”

A dog barked in the distance. Hanzo looked over to see two boys playing with a dog on a leash. One was shorter than the other - a younger brother, perhaps? A friend? His heart ached to see their innocent youth. Such halcyon days seemed to slip by so quickly, all before one even realized what one was losing.

“I like to think you belong at my side, as I do yours. It is better than nothing.”

 

“Blackwatch was different.” Genji didn’t say anything about belonging at one another’s side. It was a given, between the two of them. They couldn’t ever be any other way. They’d just never been so aware of it before. He was quite sure that that had somehow played into all of their problems. They never knew how deeply they needed each other, until it was too late.

“Do you remember the dragon brothers story?”

Of course Hanzo would remember it. Their father had it told to both of them nearly every night when they were very young. The inevitable fight and betrayal, the lessons of humility and understanding. Genji remembered feeling childish sorrow and pity for the dragon of the north wind, who seemed so lost and alone. Even if it was his own fault.

 

“That silly little tale?” Hanzo also remembered it, if only because their father had treated it with so much seriousness. Hanzo had asked for a different story, but Genji had liked it. So they kept listening to it. He recalled some childish anger at that back then, when he had been so much more free with himself.

“The two dragons of the north and south winds, who fight but reunite. Yes, I remember it.” The dragons in his arm seemed to come a little more alive at the mention, as if sensing their cousins being spoken about. “Why?”

 

“They did more than just fight. They saved each other.” Genji liked to remember the story, but not the circumstances under which he was told. Or remembered. One brother, slaying the other, shattering the land; everything they knew and cared for. Genji found it a little too close to home, and it had nothing to do with the dragon forms under Hanzo’s and his former skin.

“That’s what we’re supposed to do. That’s why I can’t give up on you. It makes sense.”

It did not, strictly speaking, but Genji could grasp for any straws to regain his hopeful nature. Hanzo had killed him, and it shattered their world. Then, they had found one another as strangers, and were forced to walk in shoes they did not know. Reunited at last, whole but never the same again. It was beautifully poetic and painfully ironic.

 

“You’re putting too much weight on a fairytale.” Hanzo could see the connections that Genji was drawing, but refused to put the same significance on them. It was a story and nothing more, no matter what parallels were pointed out. “You must have spent far too much time indoors if this is what is going through your head.”

Cliffs protected the beach on either side, providing a windless zone for birds and other creatures to rest. Men and women in swimwear sunned themselves. Children ran around, kicking up sand with their small, dirty feet. A peddler weaved his way through the colorful grid of towels on the beach with a cooler strapped to his chest, bellowing, “Melts! Ice! Cones! One for two, one for two!”

He passed by the brothers. “Cones?” he asked in Turkish, “Cone for you and your friend?”

He opened his cooler to show the shaved ice inside. A bandoleer of paper cups swung merrily from the cooler and he waved his arm, showing the frosting bags full of syrup tied there. “Two for one,” he repeated, holding up two fingers. “And two-fifty for two.”

“...I’ll take one,” Hanzo said. He fished out the smallest note on him - a folded fifty - and gave it to the peddler.

He looked chagrined. “I don’t have change -”

“No, it’s fine. Keep it. Give the children some for free.”

He was given an extra-large scoop of ice by the smiling peddler and his choice of syrup. After a pause, Hanzo chose the least dubious color in the bags - an electric blue. A second was handed over as well, also blue, and Hanzo automatically took it before remembering he probably should have asked Genji.

Before he could return it, the peddler turned from them and continued to bellow as children, dragging their exasperated parents, ran up to him while squawking like small, tanned pigeons that sighted bread.

“Here.” He offered the cone.

 

The world seemed brighter without the heavy weight of the previous years on his mind. Genji had strolled along, content to follow Hanzo, content to stall out their conversation, content to watch Hanzo interact with others as a reasonable human being. It was a rare sight indeed.

He took the cone, half a comment lodged behind his teeth about having to spit the treat out in a couple of seconds, but Hanzo looked almost relaxed, and that was worth wasting food.

“Treats and the beach? What is it, my birthday?”

 

“Consider it me trying to make it up to you for missing so many before.” Hanzo sedately ate his cone. The fine ice melted in his mouth and the syrup - the sort of artificial sweetness only children really enjoyed - dyed his tongue and lips the electric blue.

“Let’s stay here, Genji. I’m tired of running. We will have to, eventually, but for now…” Hanzo swallowed half-melted ice as gulls cried overhead. “... let’s stay a while.”

 

“As long as we can,” Genji agreed, finding this pliable mood his brother was in as promising. Sure, they still had mountains of problems to discuss and fight over, but for now, he was content to stay somewhere beautiful and enjoy the moment.

 

-x-

 

The moment began to stretch out into weeks. Genji felt oddly cut off from everything, and it didn’t bother him as it should. He and Hanzo had reached some new level of understanding and in consequence, behaved differently. Slightly. They still argued as Genji pried into his brother’s soul and self-loathing, and Hanzo still cut down Genji’s newly reforged optimism about the world with harsh reality, but their flow was different now. They fell into bed and stared at each other, fully conscious as they shared their bodies.

Genji was sure that he was close to being happy, as happy as he could be. The only source of continued conflict for him was personal. His abilities were so far beyond human that it seemed like a waste to spend his life at some beachside paradise.

He and Hanzo were still bad people, and redemption came from actions, not just a change of mind. As much as Genji appreciated Hanzo’s new, calmer energy, he couldn’t settle down. He also couldn’t bring himself to fully trust his brother’s change of heart. It had been a little too convenient to be natural, right? Genji waited for the day Hanzo lost patience with this subdued and stolen lifestyle. It wasn’t theirs, and it could never last, no matter how much they could enjoy a few weeks of peace together.

Restless energy lead mostly to unnecessary exercises. Genji didn’t have muscles to upkeep or sequenced fighting to remember, but the hotel suite was spacious enough for him to practice nonetheless. He moved soundlessly, hid in impossibly small spaces, and controlled the tiny amount of noise his joints and polymer limbs made in the name of training. No ninja ever trained in a hotel room, but he had to make do. 

Hanzo was free to wander around in any state. No one would question or stop him, but omnics were a different matter altogether. Omnics walking around, after the crisis? Asking for trouble. Not that Genji couldn’t handle himself, but a long string of murders around here would probably raise an eyebrow or four thousand.

Even in his disguise, Genji had been recognized as one far too many times. He was...well, he knew what the staff and other guests thought. Hanzo’s escort, indeed.

When you broke it down simply, Genji was getting a case of cabin fever that no amount of beach strolling could fix. Which was why, perhaps, he kept readying himself for a fight that might never come. Currently, that meant doing a split in the corner of the ceiling, working out the best type of coating for his fingertips and toes in order to stick to the flat surface more easily.

 

While Genji skittered around their suite like an anxious spider, Hanzo found himself growing calmer and calmer. The lack of activity did not bother him - no, it wasn’t even the biggest thing on his mind. Now that Hanzo wasn’t torturing himself over things he could not change, finding peace within himself was as easy as breathing.

He was… dare he think it… happy.

He and Genji continued to share a bed. Sometimes, they argued - but never as fiercely as they once did. And the more restless Genji grew, the more sedate Hanzo became.

All the curtains were drawn in respect to the night. The area around the Carlton was popular, but it was the kind of wealthy that stayed quiet at night. All the loud youths left to dance somewhere else.

Their bedroom was lit up by a single lamp, deliberately set to its dimmest. The TV was on and Hanzo sat in bed, watching. Genji wasn’t at his side, largely because he acting out his best monkey impression on the ceiling.

He flicked through the channels. Most were just Turkish stuff, but Hanzo also had the cable package, so he wasn’t watching mind-numbing stuff the entire time. It was a… movie, of some sort, one that just came out this year. Super heroes. A handsome brunette strut across the screen, quipping at his blonde friend, but most of the dialogue slipped through his ears like water.

The blonde frowned solemnly and said something else. Hanzo caught snippets about responsibility and America, but not much else. Dramatic music played and it switched to commercial.

An ad for KFC began to play. Hanzo looked away and over to Genji instead. “What on Earth are you doing?”

 

“Research.” Genji had no intention of returning to the ground just yet, not when he was entirely fascinated with the glowing circles on his fingers that adhered to the ceiling. He dropped his legs, holding on with only his hands. It looked ridiculous, but the strength of whatever was in the fingertips was enough to let him hold on, his hands still flat on the ceiling. Genji focused on the display in front of his eye. Reroute something in unintelligible Swiss to lower extremities? Sounded useful enough. The tips of his feet glowed too, and he brought them to the ceiling, where they stuck without a hitch.

“This is insanely useful for infiltration. Why didn’t Overwatch give me this upgrade straight away?”

 

“Maybe they wanted to attach the duster before they gave it to you. You can reach every corner now.” Hanzo watched Genji play, patient. “Well, I suppose this means I can stop holding my climbing over you.”

His eyes slid back to the TV. The chicken was gone. Something else played. Hanzo boredly watched the scantily-clad woman on the screen talk about the virtues of Victoria’s Secrets lingerie until she, her lacy nightie, and her alarmingly bright teeth disappeared. The movie came back.

_ “...heroes for a reason… our duty to help people…!” _ The blonde was rather incensed now.

_ “... causing more harm than good… transparency…” _ The brunette and the blonde nattered on, but Hanzo was back to watching his brother.

“What’s got you so worked up?”

 

“I’m not worked up.” Genji’s hands left the ceiling, but he didn’t crash down. Much the opposite, he was capable of walking, upright, upside down. It was kind of funny, but again, very useful in possible applications. Genji was pleased there were still surprises to his new body, even after he thought he’d explored it all.

“I’m just...we’ve been here a long time. Don’t you think we should move on?”

He was half-listening to the movie, and the notion of heroism, duty, and reason for existence struck a sore note within.

 

“And go where?” Hanzo almost switched the channel, but another commercial came on. The volume was much louder for this one and both were blasted by the aggressively smiling man’s warcry of,  _ “Looking for a fresh cut? Need something trendy? Redo yourself? Are you tired of the face you see in the mirror?” _

Hanzo turned the volume down.

“We don’t exactly have a travel itinerary, if you hadn’t noticed.” Scissors were brandished over a girl’s head.  _ Snip, snip _ . Her hair fell down in long clumps. Hanzo watched it, waiting for Genji’s answer.

 

“Somewhere we can do some good, maybe.” Genji didn’t know where that could be, precisely, but the antsy energy that put him on the ceiling in the first place refused to stop thinking that this might wasn’t all they were meant to be. Genji was, quite literally, built for more than that.

“Some hot spot, some troubled place. Somewhere we can live in obscurity and, simultaneously, make the world better for the people in it. I’m not saying it has to be anything large-scale or official. Just...not holed up here.”

 

“So what? We go to… Colombia or Iraq or India or any one of those places and set up shop to do… what?” A black brow quirked up. “Set up a charity? Bake sales? Maybe we’ll sew clothing for children.”

Hanzo looked back at the TV. “The only thing we’re good at is ruining lives and killing people. Is that what you want us to do?”

_ Snip, snip. _ The girl’s long hair was becoming a bob. She  _ did _ look different. Hanzo idly fingered his own hair.

 

“There you go again with that. We would not ruin lives if we killed the right people, brother.” Genji wouldn’t push the issue any harder than that. He wanted Hanzo to come around on his own, though some part of him sarcastically muttered that it would never happen. He unstuck himself from the ceiling, landing with the grace of a cat, soundlessly. 

Pleased with his new discoveries, he shouldered himself some space next to Hanzo, sitting down with no intention of relaxing.

“You look like you have less gray hair. Turkey’s been good for you.”

 

“Trick of the light. Grey doesn’t turn black,” Hanzo muttered as his eyes narrowed. His mouth thinned. “Genji,” he said, voice growing a little odd, “why did you dye your hair that horrible green color back then?”

His hair had grown considerably longer since he reunited with Genji. Three years of uninterrupted growth put it past his shoulders, brushing the middle of his shoulder blades. Hanzo normally would just give it another slice to control its length, but a fresh idea was beginning to grow in him.

 

Genji shrugged both shoulders as he reached out for an end of Hanzo’s hair. It was excessively long now, and definitely needed to be restrained if it was not to be a liability. He couldn’t imagine his brother had any intention of turning all of this into a braid, though.

“It was the furthest from natural I could get. Green is my favorite color. I didn’t think more about it.”

 

Of course he didn’t. That ran contrary to Genji’s nature. It had been rebellion and green had been available - simple as that. Hanzo wondered why he even bothered to ask.

“Did you know,” he asked slowly, “that I once asked father for permission to dye my hair? I was twenty-three, then. Already greying.”

Hanzo touched one of his grey hairs critically. “He said to keep it because it made me look older and would help cement my image in the Shimada-gumi. Men did not dye their hair. That was for… other people.”

People like Genji.

“I think I will dye it, have it cut. In a salon, obviously.” He looped a grey around his finger and tugged until it came free of his scalp. It shimmered in the low light, silvered as if he were three decades older. “Not just cut. Something… different. New.”

 

Genji doubted that ‘something different’ was going to be something more than trimming down the mane into something manageable and majestic. His brother’s aesthetic was very traditional and Genji had zero expectations that this meant anything.

“I’m the last person who will prevent you from doing that, brother,” Genji tugged at the ridiculously long strand he’d been playing with, bunching it between his fingers so it looked like a brush.

“All of this is not practical. I could strangle you with your own hair.”

 

“It would be a very dramatic assassination,” Hanzo said, watching Genji toy with his hair. “Stop that. You’ll get it all tangled again.”

Despite his words, Hanzo settled back against Genji and said no more as his brother amused himself by putting Hanzo’s hair into a dozen skinny braids. They both watched TV and idly chatted, calm once more.


	20. Chapter 20

The woman at the salon directed them to a man. He was clearly the most stylish one of them all - his platinum hair had been polished to an artful coif and long, thin tattoos snaked up his brown neck. White shoes peeked out under his red skinny jeans. He smiled, flashing white teeth, and Hanzo’s hair was quite elegantly taken from his control and into his hairdresser’s.

He was washed, scrubbed, and given advice in an Indian accent on how to take care of the split-ends. When the time to cut came, however, Hanzo held up his hand.

“Nothing much,” he said. “Trim it.”

“Trim it?” The hairdresser - _Momus_ , his nametag said, “Just trim it? No, no, that sort of thing ended three years ago. You’re doing your face no favors with this. Here’s what I think. Something like this, mm?”

He whipped out his phone and showed Hanzo the picture. Hanzo spent a few seconds staring before he deliberately tilted Momus’ hand away from Genji’s gaze. “That? It’s very...”

“Very _in,”_ Momus said. _“Very_ good for you.”

 

Genji was watching the happenings in the salon with vague interest. He used to go to these places and let himself be pampered, and also piss off his entire family with his styling choices. He didn’t miss the reasons why he’d done it, but he did miss the feelings. He didn’t have any hair left for it, nor a need.

The hairdresser working on Hanzo, or rather, consulting with Hanzo, was a very flashy fellow. Genji tried to picture Hanzo in pants that bright and he had to snicker. A weird sound, when it filtered through his visor.

“You should never be afraid of something new.” He nodded sagely, though he had no idea what was on the phone.

 

“Yeah, see? Hit it, Tinman!” Momus held up his fist for Genji to bump. “Look, it’ll be fine. I’m the best in this city and even if you don’t like - it grows back.”

Hanzo looked between the phone and Genji. A change came over his face, resolute, and he nodded firmly. “Do it.”

“Great!” Momus’ eyes grew just a little brighter as he pulled out the razor from his belt. “Hold still. This is going to be _nice_.”

 

Genji was content to watch the man snip away at Hanzo’s hair, ignoring the twinge of jealousy that anyone was close enough to touch his brother. He could have left to do something else, anything at all, but by the time he figured that this would take a while, he was beginning to see a lot of hair come off. The hairdresser didn’t seem to be stopping at Hanzo’s previous length. Genji coughed to clear his throat from no obstructions.

“He’s going pretty far.”

Hanzo had always worn his hair pridefully long. Genji couldn’t really remember ever seeing the back of his head, unobstructed. He got up from where he’d been idling, leaning over and invading the hairdresser’s space as he tugged off the mask.

 

“It’ll knock your electric socks off,” Momus said. He had a good bunch of hair from the top of Hanzo’s head sectioned off while he trimmed the bottom. He managed to ignore the omnic coming closer and closer to him, until the omnic turned out to be not an omnic at all.

“Woah, wow, shit, that’s cool. Is that like a costume or your body?” Momus snip-snipped away expertly as his eyes danced between Genji’s face and Hanzo’s hair. The scissors flashed and a damp cluster of hair fell to the slowly growing pile at their feet. “Ah, avoid that. If you step on it, the mess won’t come off _ever.”_

“Genji,” Hanzo said, eyes closed as he let Momus work, “stop crowding him.”

 

“A man with blades this close to your head and you want me to stay across the room?” Genji’s didn’t imply that he was serious. He didn’t really think this flamboyant guy would be any threat to his brother, but he was hacking off almost all of Hanzo’s hair and there’s no way that his brother had agreed to all of this. Hanzo was going to be pissed.

“It’s not a costume. It is my body.”

 

“I can break his wrist, if I must.”

“You guys are awful,” Momus said, laughing, “bullying me like this - I would be sad if I weren’t the guy with the knife.”

 _Snip!_ The last piece of hair was cut and Momus stopped, looked at his work, and smiled. “There, alright. Next step, dude, get ready.”

A few quick adjustments of the chair had Hanzo reclining. Momus scuttled off and came back with a towel, shaving cream, and his razor. He took his time, carefully cleaning off the hair that stuck to Hanzo’s skin, gave him another comb, and finished it off by slapping shaving cream onto his hands. “Can’t back out now. You in?”

“Do it.”

Hanzo managed to make the act of reclining on his chair with a towel around his neck look grim. His face was set, determined.

“So we’re going to go in tight here, at the very bottom. I need the cream for that. Up here, not so much. Don’t worry about it being bare for a few days - virgin hair like yours will grow that into stubble in a week.” Momus talked as he worked. He started low again and worked his way up. Another wave of hair joined the floor by the time he pulled out the razor.

 _Bzzzzz_. Hanzo’s hair grew shorter and shorter with each sweep.

 

At some point, Genji was more in the way than anything else, so he was relegated to standing at the side, curiously peering at this new look Hanzo was acquiring. To be perfectly honest, the razor touching his brother’s skin had him think plenty of uncomfortable thoughts. Any second, he expected some crimson to come pouring out of Hanzo’s head. Any second, the hairdresser (name already dismissed) would reveal himself an assassin that Genji would have to kill to avenge his foolish brother. The jovial mood of anticipation slipped away quickly, and Genji’s biolights hissed as they retreated into his body, creating the smooth surface of his combat ready mode.

This was ridiculous.

Genji only noticed how tense he was when he calibrated the seconds it would take to decapitate the hairdresser. He exhaled harshly, mask back over his face. He was being...well, definitely not civil. No one was here to hurt Hanzo. No one even fucking knew Hanzo. Genji’s world had narrowed in on his brother far too quickly.

“I’m going to take a walk until you’re finished.”

 

“Take care.”

It took another hour for everything to finish. Momus chatted with Hanzo until it became clear that Hanzo was in no mood for talking, and they fell into silence as Momus focused on finishing the last details. The hair dye followed and Hanzo watched his grey hairs disappear under the purple chemicals. “Twenty minutes,” Momus said, “and then you’re free, Willy.”

“Hmm.”

Hanzo considered himself in the mirror while Momus wandered off. He looked… different. Very different. He was not sure how to feel about it, but reserved judgment for until later. It wouldn’t look bad, he was sure, but he wasn’t sure if _he_ would like it.

The minutes slid by slowly. He wondered where Genji was, but decided not to wonder before the possibilities mutated into horrors. Five became ten became twenty, and Momus was back to recline him into the sink.

“Nice and black, very distinguished,” Momus said as he blow-dried his hair. Hanzo squinted through the strands flying about his face. “Bam, ten years knocked off.”

His view was blocked as Momus stood in front of the mirror to finish styling him. Slim fingers picked and poked, and hairspray was sprayed intermittently until Momus finished ‘hmm’-ing and ‘ahhh’-ng to declare that he was done.

“Done,” he declared. “Take a look.”

Hanzo saw himself.

He stared.

The man in the mirror was not someone he recognized. He _was_ younger - and much, much more like the kind of people that Genji used to be friends with. When he ran his hand over the two shaved sides, the little bristles confirmed what he saw. Only the hair on top was still long and that was cleanly coiffed backwards, held in place by Momus’ lavender-scented hairspray.

Well.

Hanzo blinked and pulled out money. It was more than what Momus charged and he tapped his shoulder. “Uh, hey - this is too much -”

“Keep it.”

“I was just gonna say - for stuff that costs this much, we also offer piercings?”

Hanzo slowly turned to look at him. “Piercings?”

“Yeah. Downstairs. Just tell him I worked on you and you can get anything you want.”

Hanzo looked back at the stranger in the mirror. How much more different would he be with piercings?

How much would the Shimada hate that?

“Show me where it is,” he said brusquely and Momus brightened.

“Ohoho… absolutely. Come on!”

In short order, Hanzo found himself being examined by the squinty-eyed tattooist and piercer. “Earrings,” he said while Momus chattered next to him, “and something for the nose. You got a good nose. Call attention to it.”

Hanzo looked at himself and compared the pictures the piercer showed him to his own face. Earrings? Nose? It was a big step.

“Both ears,” he said, “and something on the bridge, not the nostrils. Keep it clean.”

“Can do,” the piercer said, “lay back. It’ll be quick.”

For something so new, it took an incredibly short amount of time. Hanzo felt the pricks come, one after the other, and he found himself sporting titanium on his face. Two rings, one for each ear, and a bar through the bridge of his nose.

He touched it gingerly and the pain reminded him this was real.

“So, uh - that all?” Momus said, looking Hanzo as if he were watching a butterfly crawl out of its cocoon. “Is the makeover done, or are we buying clothes?”

“We?”

“My lunch hour,” Momus said, “I know a few good places - if you’re down.”

Hanzo looked down at his clothes. They were functional and plain - the kind he always gravitated to. What could he possibly buy?

He looked at Momus and his band shirt, his red skinny jeans, and the dozen rings and bracelets he had on.

“Let’s go,” he said and unholy light lit up in Momus’ eyes.

 

-x-

 

Subsequently, what would have been a mere trim turned into a four hour-long trip. Hanzo came out of it carrying a cake and walking in another man’s skin. Every time he passed a glass storefront, he sneaked a glance to see the stranger peering back at him with equally confused eyes. The stranger had black hair, cut like a young man’s, a bar through his nose, and rings on his ears. He wore black jeans, sneakers, and a blue T-shirt that had Overwatch’s logo on it.

It was all the rage, apparently, even after the humiliation Overwatch received. Momus swore on it. Hanzo found it odd, but instead found his own private humor in wearing the fallen organization’s symbol on his chest. Even if it disconcerted him everytime he saw himself.

Still, if he found this strange… then how would Genji react?

 

When Genji returned to the salon for his brother an hour after he left, he was only told that Hanzo had taken off with his hairdresser. That was questionable in itself, but not dangerous. He was being paranoid if he thought Hanzo couldn’t handle himself.

So Genji went to look for something to occupy himself with for a little longer. He filled ten minutes stopping a mugging, fifteen taking out a group of omnic-hating drunks and five helping old ladies cross the street. Whether or not they wanted to go, he still didn’t know, considering they only spoke angry Turkish at him.

This wasn’t the place for him. Maybe if he was younger, before he ever became a Blackwatch agent and had somehow found himself here, he could be happy. A younger Genji would dress up and pretend to be a hero. Yeah, of the super kind. The skills he’d been taught were meant for ruthless killing, but Genji had always preferred to picture another use for them.

Reality and time had, unfortunately, killed that part of Genji too.

At least his small spree had distracted him from being away from Hanzo. Now, he strolled through the main street. Maybe he was looking for trouble. A heavily armed omnic in a crowd of people? Alright, maybe he was begging for trouble.

Everyone noticed him. He couldn’t be more obvious in the crowd, without any wrappings to cover the bright, green lights. Good. He was done hiding.

 

It took Hanzo a few minutes of walking around to realize he lost Genji. Rather than just go back to his room, he went looking for him. It wasn’t that hard to find the glowing green omnic, and so it took Hanzo ten minutes to track down his sibling in the crowd.

In that time, however, Genji proved himself by getting into multiple fights, arguments, and tussles in the middle of the Turkish morning rush. It was a slow disaster. It was like watching a train fall off its tracks in slow motion.

“Genji!” He pushed through the sweating, clamoring, talking mass of people, a storm cloud passing over his face.

 

The fighting, mild as it was, definitely settled some of that anxious energy that had bubbled up again. Genji didn’t have to draw his sword, until he heard his name called. It was out of reflex more than anything else, though when he whirled around, ready to fight, he didn’t quite know who had called out to him.

His visor scanned the crowd. It had sounded like Hanzo, who should, technically, be the only one to know he was here. It caught on an Overwatch symbol. Had they sent someone after him? To retrieve the body, maybe?

Behind the visor, he scowled as he looked over the person clearly trying to make his way over to him. He didn’t look like an agent, he was much too plain for Overwatch’s odd taste in uniform and apparel. Maybe he was being covert. If piercings and an undercut could...

Wait.

He squinted at the familiar face. It wasn’t that he struggled to recognize his own, dear brother. It was just that he’d never expect Hanzo’s face amidst a mess of hipster elements.

The sword went back into the sheath and Genji’s eyes were dinnerplates behind his visor. Hanzo looked completely alien, compared to the grouchy brother he’d kissed just this morning. Wordlessly, Genji approached Hanzo, not stopping before him, but circling immediately.

“...Hanzo? You...uhm...”

How should he word this? Hanzo looked good, sort of, but he looked nothing like himself. From head to toe, because all of his clothing had been replaced too. What kind of wizard was that hairdresser to convince the world’s most stubborn dragon to shed his scales?

 

“Are you quite done making a spectacle of yourself?” Regardless of how much changed, Hanzo could still deliver a crippling sense of judgment with one sentence. He crossed his arms. “Stop acting like a deranged vulture and come on. I let you out of my sight for a few hours and you manage to trip over half of Turkey.”

Hanzo took Genji’s wrist and led him away from the crowd. There were too many people, all speaking and breathing and walking at the same time, and Hanzo was beginning to grow irate. He wanted to retreat to the Carlton and its ocean breeze, away from all this _life._

 

Genji followed him, dragged along like a corpse in water. He couldn’t really offer Hanzo a rebuttal just now, because he looked like an alien, compared to what Genji was used to.

“You...what happened to you?”

It was baffling and fascinating in one. Genji didn’t really wait until they were back at the hotel to touch the short hair and the pierced ear.

“What did you _do_ to yourself?”

 

“I told you - things would be different.” They weaved through the crowd quickly and Hanzo hailed a cab to take them back to the beach. He glared at Genji warningly to make sure he kept his mouth shut, and they both were whisked back home within minutes, cutting through the crowd until they found locales more suitable to Hanzo’s temperament.

He sighed when he stepped out. Ah. Much better. “Come on,” he said and they strolled into the Carlton, through the lobby, and up the elevator until the penthouse, at its dizzying 22nd floor, opened up for them.

“I’m tired.” His face ached a little too, thanks to the piercings.

 

“You’re not sleeping now. You’re forty, not eighty. Hanzo, you can’t just say ‘things are different’. You look like an entirely new person! I barely recognized you at all!” Genji waited only until they had their privacy. The visor flew off and the inspection began, this time with fingers prodding and pulling, Genji investigating every changed inch of his brother’s look.

“I mean, look at this? Look at this! Look at that! Is this real?” Genji’s finger bumped the fresh nose bridge piercing and he whistled.

“Are you serious? Hanzo, I never...I mean, you _like_ this look? You could walk right into one of the places I used to go to all the time in Hanamura!”

A revelation dawned slowly on Genji’s face and he pulled his hand back, holding it up to his lips in a pensive expression. The other came up to hold his chin before he folded them together, imploring.

“Hanzo...be honest. You thought...you thought I was cool?” Genji’s eyes were _shining_.

 

“No.” Hanzo let himself be examined like a sheep about be sold. His hair was ruffled, the sensitive piercings were poked, and even his clothes were examined. “You dyed your hair _green.”_

Hanzo let himself savor the little hint of disappointment on Genji’s face before he threw him a bone. “Alright,” he conceded, “a little cool. Green hair aside.”

He then pushed Genji’s hands away gently. “Stop poking at them. They’re fresh and who knows where your mitts have been.” Also, he wasn’t even _thirty_ yet, so Genji could stuff that forty in his ass. “Am I allowed to come inside now, or would you like to examine my teeth too?”

 

“I’m not sure if you’re actually my brother,” Genji whistled again, this time more careful as he touched Hanzo’s ears. He was just...it was a complete 180 from what he’d expected. Genji moved forward to wrap his arms tightly around Hanzo. No part of him would allow Hanzo to escape him as he pressed his head into his brother’s shoulder.

“I’m proud of you,” he whispered. He knew this was a big step. Hanzo could deny it all he wanted, but he’d let go of some part of the past. He was no longer the austere, thunderous vision of traditional japanese yakuza. No, this was just Hanzo, being a person. Being for the sake of being himself.

Genji could fucking cry, it was such a relief.

 

Hanzo stiffened awkwardly, then slowly relaxed once he realized Genji was being genuine. He raised his hands to pat his back a little. “Thank you,” he said, rare earnestness trickling into his voice, “I… wondered how you might react. I admit that this was not what I expected.”

Incredulousness, yes. Maybe some mockery. Perhaps even some goading. But this? This was nice. Hanzo would take this. His eyes gentled.

He leaned in close to rest his head against his brother’s. “Genji...” he said softly, “if you touch my piercings again, you’re sleeping on the sofa.”

 

“They actually hurt less if someone sucks on them and distracts you with sex,” Genji whispered into his brother’s shoulder, completely ripping the serene moment apart. Which was fine, because he’d said his piece and been heard. Hanzo knew, hopefully, that this transformation meant the world to Genji and got his wholehearted approval.

And, not to be omitted, there was a large portion of Genji that wanted nothing more than to strip his brother of his new clothes and show him first-hand how much he liked this new look.

 

“That sounds _incredibly_ unsanitary,” Hanzo replied as they walked through the door and he kicked it shut behind them. He still let Genji pull the new T-shirt off and throw it down - Hanzo gave him a brief disapproving look for that - and they went backwards until they found the bedroom.

To be honest, not _that_ much had changed. Hanzo, from the neck down, was still the same man who’d rolled out of bed that morning. Genji still seemed charmed anyway, judging by the way he kept looking at the hair and piercings with bright, amazed eyes.

 

It wasn’t a complete body transformation, but Hanzo had changed, massively, and it was time that someone appreciated every ounce of that. Genji had blown off some steam with his antics earlier, which freed him up now to show his brother that his new look was a step in the right direction.

And no, he couldn’t really stop looking awestruck every time his eyes passed over the piercings or the hair. It didn’t matter so much because it was so unlike Hanzo, but rather because it dispensed with everything the Shimada would expect of their heir.

“You look great,” he muttered, in the process of leaving a dark, red mark on Hanzo’s abdomen.

 

“So you’ve said,” Hanzo murmured as he relaxed back into the bed, familiar with where this was going. The old burning shame was barely even an ember now, he was so used to this. It felt as natural as breathing to lean back and let his little brother kiss his flat stomach and unzip his jeans with his teeth. He didn’t even need to wrestle with the arousal now.

Ah, what he would have thought of himself now even just a year ago. That Hanzo would also have blanched at what he looked like now. Well. He was no longer that Hanzo anymore, was he?

“Slow down,” he said, giving Genji a small tug, “we’ve got all day.”

And here he was, not looking away. Even going so far as to give suggestions, as if Genji was a boyfriend of his. Where was the shame? The guilt? The self-disgust? Perhaps it still existed, to be dug up when things were dark, but Hanzo did not have the energy to muster it up right now. Not when Genji perked up when Hanzo looked down and met his eyes willingly. Sure, he also had his cock in his mouth and that made a good view, but that was a side benefit.

 

They did. Sort of. There were no plans for them and that was kind of a problem, all things considered. But it was also a problem for a Genji without a cock in his mouth, so that would have to be solved at a later point in time.

The fact that they did this, without the slightest hiccup or hesitation between the two of them said a lot. Genji was utterly grateful for the breakthroughs they’d achieved here, but he felt their time of indulgence coming to an end.

But first, of course, there was an important part of his brother to tend to. Genji closed his eyes and concentrated on what he could do for Hanzo with his lips and tongue instead.

 

Life was good. Hanzo sighed, thrust into Genji’s mouth, and decided that things could stay like this, for just a bit longer.

 

-x-

 

“Ay, _dios mío,_ look at them go. This is like - the second time today?” She tapped a command and a different screen came up to provide a new angle. Wet noises filtered through her laptop speakers and a man sighed gutturally. “Topnotch job, though, he’s _really_ going in on it.”

“Is it necessary to watch?” Widow asked, her flat voice betraying none of her thoughts. Her rifle was on the low table between them, guts spilled out while she cleaned each part with an oiled cloth. “It adds nothing to the mission.”

“It adds _flavor,”_ Sombra said, looking up, “so when we find them, we can look into their eyes and know that they’ve been diddling each other.”

Widow said nothing. She didn’t need to. Sombra put on her earphones, dialed up the volume, and continued to watch.

Smoke filtered into the room. Rot followed it and Sombra glanced up for a half-second, while Widow did not react at all. Reaper formed in their midst, sickly and glowering as ever. “I’ve found them,” he said, “The Ritz-Carlton on the northern end of the Bodrum Peninsula.”

“They know their holidays,” Sombra commented, “classic rich kid tastes.”

“When do we move?” Widow asked, assembling her rifle.

“Soon,” Reaper wheezed. He brushed past her - and paused. “Sombra. What are you watching?”

“Incest,” she said succinctly, “I told you this.”

“Stop watching them.”

“But Hanzo fucks like a jack-”

Reaper firmly closed her laptop before he dissolved into smoke. He left as Sombra rolled her eyes after him. “ _Puto_ ,” she said, opening it back up again.

  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> another twist? Will they never end :D


	21. Chapter 21

The restlessness in Genji found a semi-acceptable outlet in the form of the two of them spending more time together. Not as before, with each brother brooding away over various issues, mostly things they’d done to each other.

Genji researched the world’s most troubled places like other people decided on their dream vacations. He made plans, routes he and Hanzo would take, noted down criminal organizations they’d destroy along the way. It was a vague goal with very tangible steps. Hanzo wouldn’t mind, that much was clear. They were bound together in ways neither of them could or wanted to verbalize. His brother would follow him anywhere.

So why not make use of it? Genji eagerly awaited their departure from Turkey, amassing combat skills and weapon upgrades that were definitely outside of what was considered legal. A vigilante duo. That was honorable enough to sate his need for heroism, yet free enough to keep Hanzo’s pessimistic distrust of every organization in the world quiet.

It was the perfect solution.

 

Little by little, they got ready to leave. Money and arms were gathered. Hanzo began to wake up from his sedate pace in response to Genji’s restlessness. Neither of them were sure when they would move, but they were sure they eventually would.

That is, until the day Hanzo found the bug in the wall.

He ignored the hole he punched into it and his bleeding knuckles. The broken little button camera winked at him mockingly and Hanzo’s peace shattered into thunderous, roaring rage. “Someone was watching us,” he said, voice tight with anger. “Someone was  _watching_ us!”

 

The whole punching a wall business alerted Genji moments ago and had appeared at his brother’s side. Untouched by the rage, Genji examined the place where it had been. The angle which it had covered. He swallowed thickly, because he knew exactly what happened there and what the camera had gotten wide shots of.

Whoever was watching them definitely knew the unsavoury Shimada family secret. But what good would it be? They couldn’t be blackmailed, and no one had tried to make contact.

“We should leave within the week, Hanzo. They must have come in here with housekeeping. That’s the only people besides us with access.”

 

“It wasn’t them. This camera wasn’t put in that wall through drilling or hidden access or anything like that - it was just in there, in the middle of the plaster. I would have caught it sooner if it was. It was like… it just  _appeared.”_

He crushed it further and dropped it on the floor in disgust. “This wasn’t done through ordinary means. I would not have found it if you hadn’t dented the wall last week.” He looked at said dent, shaped like Genji’s fist. It had a hole in it where Hanzo finished the job. “There must be more. They could be watching us right now.”

Hanzo looked around, eyes wary. He gathered his bow and nudged Genji to stand ready, just in case. “We need to leave now.”

 

“Not a problem.” They’d made plans for this. Genji moved quickly, gathered a few backs to sling over his shoulder that they’d pre-packed and scouted the hallway. No one was around, which wasn’t unusual, but it was very quiet in the entire hotel. Quickly, he checked the staircase, the lifts, the reception, before speeding back to Hanzo.

“Everyone’s gone. Could be a trap. Rooftops?”

 

While Genji darted around, Hanzo finished gathering everything else they needed. Food and water for him, the last of their funds, everything that wasn’t too cumbersome to snatch up in a pinch. Genji could carry most of the bags, so weight was not a concern.

Hanzo put a finger to his lips. “Quiet for now,” he said, “cameras.”

Black smoke squeezed through under the door. Neither brother noticed it, expecting an entirely different sort of enemy, until the smoke materialized into a man in the hallway. “Sharp,” he said, “but not sharp enough.”

He raised his shotgun and aimed at Hanzo’s knee. At the same time his shotgun barked, the window burst apart into glass shards as Widow took her cue.

The noise was deafening. Blood spurt across the wooden floor as Hanzo fell down, leg severed from one prosthesis. Electricity sparked from it as he howled and clutched the bloody stump of his right thigh, now a considerable length shorter than the other.

 

The only reason that Genji wasn’t springing into cybernetic ninja action was the simultaneous greying of his biolights as the shot struck true. Genji didn’t have blood to spill, but the electro-magnetic pulse that raced through him was far more devastating than a gunshot wound would have been, had it struck him in the shoulder like that. There was a high-pitched whine from all his servos and an immediate thump as his body deactivated and hit the ground, hard. With the visor black, Genji couldn’t even see, let alone move the hunk of dead metal and polymer. Panic set in immediately, but it was not the whole being encased in what could be his coffin.

“Hanzo?!”

He’d seen his brother get hit by the assailant that had been faster than even him. He’d heard Hanzo go down, seen blood.

No matter how furious and desperate, however, Genji couldn’t move. He’d reboot, if it was a regular blast, and his life-support system ran on its own, shielded power-source, but his body, his power and strength, wouldn’t move for a full minute.

“Hanzo!”

 

The dragon brothers went down near simultaneously. But where Genji was inert as stone, Hanzo twisted and writhed. He tried to get up and grab his bow, but the butt of Reaper’s shotgun to his hand put an end to that. His fingers broke, but Hanzo had already mastered himself. He let out only a pained groan and Reaper grunted in appreciation.

Quiet. Good. The loud ones were irritating.

He kicked Genji aside as he advanced on the elder. Shimada Hanzo wasn’t such a scary fellow like this, in pain and crippled. He didn’t look much like his profile picture, but Sombra had talked about the new look enough for Reaper to get the hint. He still had the same eyes, black and cruel, so it ultimately didn’t matter what he did with his hair or face.

So this was the big bad wolf of the Asian crime world. The Shimada man, the yakuza heir, the prince of Far East sin. Shimada Hanzo. Genji’s bogeyman.

Reaper hit him across the face for good measure. “Not so big now, huh?” he said to the side where Genji lay. He reached out and gave his metal back a rough pat. “Happy birthday, Genji.”

“Think of it as belated karma, you fucked up son of a whore,” he said to Hanzo as he grabbed him. “Now let’s get you out before you bleed out. Say bye.”

He passed Hanzo’s bow on the way. Reaper tilted his head and remembered Genji talking about how Hanzo had always been better at everything - including archery.

He stepped on the bow and snapped it before leaving, Hanzo on his shoulder.

 

Agonizing minutes passed until Genji could move again. His body came back online, too slowly for his pressing need. All Genji could think about was Hanzo, at the mercy of an unknown enemy even faster than he. It was terrifying in a way Genji hadn't ever known before. He'd known the fear of dying, but never of losing someone he loved while being powerless. Thoughts raced around his mind, only to be chased off by wild guesses as to who their enemies were, before spiraling back to the horrifying silence beyond the darkness of his visor. Hanzo would surely put up a fight if he could, and it would not be quiet. What this meant, Genji did not want to analyze.

Once his senses and limbs were back under his control, Genji knew it was far too late. He was alone in the hallway, no sign of Hanzo or their assailants. His brother had been ripped from his side, and almost worse than that, he didn't know by whom. The Shimada had plenty of enemies that could have hired someone to do this. Relief was only marginal when the visor showed him an empty hallway.

Hanzo was gone.

A few traces of blood from the gunshot wound, but that was it. Genji did not bite down his howl of anguish as he rounded the building, finding no tracks of a vehicle or signs of an aerial escape. Whoever they were...They had Hanzo. The fear of his brother’s death was only vaguely abaited by the notion that if they wanted both of them dead, they could have killed them right there, in the hotel hallway. No one could have stopped them, not when they had enough expertise on their side to know each Shimada brother’s weakness.

Genji wanted to curl up in a corner and cry about the injustice of it all, but he needed to be doing the very opposite. He wasn’t a child anymore and the mellow, last few weeks fell off of him like layers of dust. He was not a rich kid on vacation with his boyfriend. He was a former special agent with a yakuza kingpin of a brother who needed his help. Hanzo had no one in the world but Genji, but that might yet be all he needed.

First step, find a clue. Anything at all. Since there was nothing outside but bewildered turkish people, Genji inspected the hallway once more. The temperature of the blood was barely a clue at all, but the shotgun shell casings discarded to the side certainly were. Whoever their assailant was simply didn’t care about leaving that behind, clearly. And on their own, there was nothing to them to tip Genji off. But he had worked for Blackwatch, and Gabriel Reyes, rest his soul, had taught him to be thorough. Plus, he’d need a tool to protect him from another EMP blast. Genji needed to find a tinkerer and a ballistics specialist, as quickly as he possibly could.

“I’ll save you, Hanzo,” he vowed as he left the hotel, the scene of their bliss, now destroyed by reality catching up with the dragon brothers once more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one is very short, but I am notoriously bad at consistent chapter length and scene-wise, it just made more sense to have its on its own. More soon :D


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